Crossing Bridges
by the moon and the stars
Summary: Elena Gilbert thought life as a human was tough, but she's about to find out that being a vampire is a whole new level of impossible. Especially when her complicated feelings for two brothers are heightened, and an old friend they thought was gone for good returns to Mystic Falls with a new and terrifying agenda… Full ensemble, Damon/Elena. Set post-3x22.
1. Prologue: Reborn

**Title: **Crossing Bridges

**Author**: the moon and the stars

**Category**: The Vampire Diaries

**Rating**: T

**Genre**: Drama/Romance

**Characters**: Full ensemble, Elena/Damon

**Chronology**: Post-3x22

**Summary**: Elena Gilbert thought life as a human was tough, but she's about to find out that being a vampire is a whole new level of impossible. Especially when her complicated feelings for two brothers are heightened, and an old friend they thought was gone for good returns to Mystic Falls with a new and terrifying agenda… Full ensemble, Damon/Elena. Set post-3x22.

**Disclaimer**: Anything you recognize doesn't belong to me.

**A/N**: Alright, so after months of planning and hesitating, I finally worked up the courage to write and post this. Why I chose a multi-chapter, multi-character story as my first fic, I have no idea… I must be crazy. Oh well. Let's just say the inspiration struck and leave it at that.

Important note: I've listed this as a Damon/Elena story, but this is truly more of a full ensemble fic with slight Delena-centric tendencies, so be prepared to see plenty of ALL of our favorite characters and pairings! It starts after 3x22 and will include some (not all) events from 4x01 before veering off into my alternate S4-verse. And just to be clear… I'm not writing this because I'm unhappy with the canon Season 4. I've just had this idea plaguing me since forever and I've finally decided to see where it leads. I'm very excited, so thanks for giving this a shot!

Also, a HUGE thanks goes out to The Vampire Diaries wiki pages, which were especially helpful creating these first few chapters and just general fact-checking.

Since I don't want to distract you any longer, I'll save the rest of my babbling for later. Enjoy!

* * *

_Death is only the beginning_ _- Unknown_

* * *

**Prologue: Reborn**

Elena Gilbert jolted awake, gasping, and immediately noticed several things that seemed… _off_.

First, her throat throbbed with the lingering ache of someone who hadn't had a drop to drink in days, which begged the question: Just how long had she been there? And where exactly was _there_, anyway? She couldn't seem to remember how she had gotten wherever she was, or even what had happened before she woke up.

Warily Elena sat up, automatically wincing as she peered at her surroundings from beneath her thick eyelashes—which alerted her to Peculiarity Number Two: It was really bright. _Too_ bright. So much so, in fact, that she was having a hard time keeping her eyes open without pain erupting behind them. She had to settle for blinking uncontrollably.

Shielding her face with her hand, Elena snuck a quick glimpse at the source of light illuminating the room, wondering why it hurt so much. But there was only minimal overhead lighting—three long halogen lights dulled by old, dusty, opaque coverings—and yet somehow, her eyes felt as though they were being carved with a high-intensity laser beam? It didn't make sense.

As her vision gradually adjusted, Elena squinted and scoured the room for clues, trying to identify her mystery location. If she could figure out where she was, maybe it would trigger her memories and she could figure out how she had gotten there in the first place. But even after one, two, three quick examinations of the room, Elena realized with mild alarm that her surroundings were completely unfamiliar to her. She had never been there before, and she had no idea how she had gotten there now.

The room was plain, organized, and small, no larger than her quaint living room, and it was bordered by shockingly white walls, ceiling, and tiled flooring. It certainly made up for the lack of overhead lighting; the white-finished surfaces reflected what little light there was, magnifying it, almost as if the designer had tried to keep the inherent darkness from the room simply by painting over it. Elena wrapped her arms around herself, suppressing a shiver. Both the temperature and the atmosphere were chilly, making her feel strangely claustrophobic in what appeared to be a nonthreatening space.

Continuing her inspection, Elena turned around, noting the rows of identical stainless steel drawers that lined the long wall opposite the entrance door. They stretched from the left wall all the way to the right, with columns that nearly reached the ceiling. Elena quickly did the math: There were forty of them. What did they contain?

A nearby flash of silver caught her eye, diverting her attention. Next to her, Elena found a small stainless steel table covered with a variety of sharp metal instruments. _Doctor's tools_, Elena immediately recognized. It didn't take her long to start fitting the pieces of the puzzle together.

_Okay_, she though rationally. _I'm in the hospital. I must have been in some sort of accident_. It would explain her (hopefully temporary) amnesia, and given her checkered medical history, it certainly wasn't a stretch.

But where were all the people? The doctors, nurses, other patients? And that's when Elena noticed the distinct lack of windows in her room. No visual access to the outside world whatsoever, which struck her as highly unusual. Wouldn't the staff want to be able to see their patients? And why wasn't anyone with her? Why was she left all alone?

Desperate for answers, Elena fumbled around for the call button that she knew from previous experience would send a staff member to her room to check on her. They usually kept it close to the hospital beds for easy access… but where was it?

It wasn't until then that Elena realized: She wasn't in a bed.

Her hands tightly grasped the edges of a cold, flat, metal table long enough to support her when she had been lying down. The hard surface was wreaking havoc on her lower back; why hadn't she noticed sooner? And what kind of hospital gave its patients such uncomfortable accommodations, anyway?

And then, without warning, the truth hit her all at once. Hard.

Her makeshift bed, the rows of drawers, the windowless room, the lack of people.

But it couldn't be. It was impossible. She couldn't be where she thought she was… could she?

No, it was just—no. It was too tragic, not to mention ridiculous! But it was okay, it wasn't true, it couldn't have happened, not to her, not to Elena, not after everything she had been through, there was just—there was simply no way that she was actually—

But she was. Deep down, Elena knew that her suspicion, churning wildly in her gut, much as she dreaded to face it, was the truth. And there was no amount of denial, no amount of desperation, begging, or rationalization that could change it.

Elena felt the panic settle in, take root, and spread mercilessly through every inch of her body as she finally acknowledged it to herself: She wasn't just in the hospital; no, she was somewhere much more specific. Somewhere she definitely didn't want to be. But instinctively she knew it was where she belonged.

_The morgue_.

And with that, the memories came flooding back in full force.

* * *

_Elena was trapped, immobilized by her seatbelt and paralyzed by shock as she grasped the urgency of her situation. Water rapidly flooded the vehicle, slowing her movements as she tried in vain to open her passenger side door. Lying next to her in the driver's seat was Matt, unconscious, leaving her completely on her own and at the mercy of her growing fear. _

_Fear for Matt, and for herself; fear for the loved ones that she would be leaving much too soon; fear for her unfulfilled hopes and dreams and possibilities that dwindled away as quickly as the water level rose in Matt's truck._

_Elena greedily sucked in a lungful of air just as the water swallowed them both completely._

So this is how it ends,_ she accepted, defeated._

_Even amidst the chaos, Elena couldn't help thinking how fitting it all was, the irony. She was supposed to die here, under Wickery Bridge, with her parents all those nights ago. Fate had intervened once. She doubted she would be so lucky a second time._

_But fate _did_ intervene again. Just like before, Stefan came to her rescue. Except this time, Elena was determined to repay the favor given her by her father. Her dad had insisted that Stefan save her first, letting himself and his wife drown in place of their beloved daughter—a request Stefan had obliged without hesitation. He had saved her life that night, and in their time together since, he kept saving her over and over again in more ways than one. She could never thank her dad enough for giving her a second chance at life._

_It was too bad she never got the "living" part quite right. Her parents had been part of the Founder's Council, which swore to protect Mystic Falls against vampires, against the very beings that Elena invited into her life with open arms. If her parents had been alive to witness her choices firsthand, would they be honestly be proud of her? Would they be proud of someone who showed compassion to those they believed to be monsters? Would they understand? Or would they be disappointed to see a daughter that let them down, horrified at how far she had strayed from the Gilbert family legacy? _

_Would they regret sacrificing themselves to save _that_ Elena? The version of their daughter they never got a chance to know? _

_Elena may have failed her parents before, but in that moment, as she swept the haunting memories of the past behind her, she vowed that she could at least get it right this time. That's why when Stefan came to save her once again, she knew what she wanted to do. What she _had_ to do. Her dad had saved her once, and she had been living on borrowed time ever since; and now, faced with the same choice that he once made, she couldn't think of a better way to respect her parents' sacrifice than by using it to save someone that _she_ loved this time._

_With grim determination, Elena frantically gestured for Stefan to save Matt first. Initially he resisted, automatically reaching for Elena's seatbelt, but she was unyielding. Matt first, or nobody. _

_Elena finally saw the acceptance form in Stefan's eyes before they clouded over with what she assumed was grief—she wasn't sure, it was hard to tell through the haze clouding her vision and her mind—before grabbing Matt and dragging him to the surface. As she watched the pair fade away into safety, she had never felt greater relief. And she had never felt more alone._

_Elena had no illusions about Stefan returning for her in time. She could already feel her lungs straining from the lack of oxygen and knew she had only seconds left before she lost consciousness._

At least I won't die in vain_, she thought with the last of her resolve._

_And she truly believed that—until Jeremy's face floated to the forefront of her mind. Elena loved her brother more than any other person in the world, and she hated that he would be left without a family. He deserved so much more than the misery she had brought into his life when she started associating with vampires. But maybe with her gone, he would finally stand a chance at having a normal life. She hoped Matt would look after him. He was always so good to her brother—a true friend._

_She hoped Bonnie would look after Jeremy too, and not just for his sake. They both deserved to be with people that made them happy, and despite the obstacles they had faced as a couple, Elena knew some day they would find their way back to each other. She also hoped that Bonnie never lost her conviction. Although the two of them had butted heads several times this past year, Elena had always admired her friend's unwavering sense of right and wrong, and she secretly wished she were as morally strong as Bonnie was._

_For Caroline—because Elena refused to believe that her friends' lives ended with Klaus; he must have been lying—Elena hoped that she never lost her love of life. Her ability to inspire happiness in those around her was such a gift, one that their sad little town certainly needed in such turbulent times. Her optimism perfectly balanced Bonnie's realism, and Elena truly hoped that despite their different natures, they would always be there for each other as best friends should. And perhaps when the pain of Tyler's death wasn't so fresh, Caroline might meet someone else worth sharing her eternal life with. She deserved that much at the very least. _

_As for Stefan and Damon… More than ever, Elena dearly wished that she hadn't followed in Katherine's footsteps and repeated her past mistakes—inadvertently making both brothers fall for her—because when Stefan and Damon thought Katherine was gone forever, it nearly destroyed them. As if stringing them along wasn't bad enough, now Elena was leaving both of them for good, just as Katherine did. But maybe Klaus was right—maybe without Elena tearing them apart, they could mend their relationship and move on with their lives. It was the only thing that gave Elena any sort of comfort from the heartache that hurt so much worse than dying._

_And maybe, just maybe, without the resident doppelganger acting as a magnet for trouble, Mystic Falls would finally find peace from the world of the supernatural._

_Her final thought before embracing the dark was that she fiercely hoped, despite everything, that her parents would be proud of her._

_Suddenly oblivion didn't seem quite so terrifying, and Elena knew she was finally ready to die. _

_As she felt the pain slowly recede, death almost seemed comforting; welcome, even…_

_Blackness consumed her, a stark contrast to the piercing light that would greet her when she unexpectedly returned to the land of the living._

_When she began her new life. _

* * *

A shocked gasp tore itself from Elena's raw throat as she recalled those final moments. Suddenly feeling as trapped as she was in Matt's truck, she took several deep breaths in a desperate attempt to regain some sense of control, superficial as it was. But not even the steady rhythm of air moving in and out of her lungs could do anything to alleviate her boundless anxiety.

In fact, it did nothing to satisfy her whatsoever. _Literally_, nothing. Breathing seemed more of a habit—a chore, even—than a physical necessity. It was by far the most unsettling insight she had had about herself since she woke up alone and disoriented.

It didn't make any sense, until—

_I don't need to breathe anymore_, Elena realized with horror. _Because… because I'm dead._

And of course she was. Funny how the most ridiculous answer ironically turned out to be the most logical one, and in this case, it was also the _correct_ one. Every peculiarity, every recovered memory, every one of her instincts… they all pointed to the same conclusion. Stefan didn't save her in time. She didn't make it out of the water alive. She _died_. It was so obvious. Why else would she be in the morgue?

But if she was dead… then that meant…

Elena gasped. _Oh my God. I'm… in transition?_

_No. I can't be turning into a—_

But she had already left panic behind, leaping face-first into full-blown hysteria.

—_Vampire._

Elena opened her mouth and screamed.

* * *

**A/N:** And that's the prologue! Thanks for giving my fic a chance, and I hope you like it so far. If you do, stick around, because we're in for a long journey ahead of us! Chapter 1 is pretty much finished, so see you soon for the update!


	2. Crossroads

**Disclaimer**: Anything you recognize doesn't belong to me.

**A/N:** Buckle up, folks. It's gonna be a long chapter, but I hope it's a decent start. There's a longer A/N at the end, but for now, on with chapter 1! Thanks for reading!

* * *

"_Choose your love. Love your choice." _– Thomas S. Monson

* * *

**Chapter 1: Crossroads**

"Are you telling me," Damon hissed with barely restrained contempt, "that you had a choice between Elena and the quarterback, and you let _her_ die?"

Outside the morgue in the halls of the Mystic Falls Hospital, Stefan Salvatore steeled himself for the (much deserved) onslaught of his brother's fury.

Stefan wouldn't admit it, but hearing Damon voice his sins aloud, even resentful as he was, provided a welcome reprieve from the constant assault of guilt and self-loathing Stefan had been turning upon himself since he first pulled Elena's lifeless body from the wreckage beneath Wickery Bridge, before he knew she wasn't lost forever. Damon, even at his worst, could never cause a greater pain than that.

Even still, it was with reluctance that Stefan recounted the tragic events of the evening, beginning with Elena's death at the hands of a vengeful Rebekah Mikaelson, and ending with the reason why he didn't make it to save her in time.

Why he had let her die.

It was a subtle distinction, really, the difference between letting Elena die and simply being too late to save her; either way, the irrevocable consequence was a bitter pill to swallow, to say the least. Did Stefan's intensions even matter when it inevitably ended in tragedy? It did to him, of course. Her death felt as heart-wrenching as if he had snapped her neck with his own hands. Everything that led to this moment was entirely avoidable. Her life was in his hands, she didn't have to die, he made the choice, _he could have prevented this_… There was no denying this single truth. Elena, the love of his immortal life, was _dead_. And his actions had made it so. It was a reality even more disturbing than the darkest period of his bloody, checkered past as The Ripper.

Stefan's only consolation was that he had done as Elena had asked—_begged—_him to do. Because as much as he wanted to put her life first, a part of him wanted to put her ideals first even more. Her compassion. Her inherent goodness. Her willingness to sacrifice everything for the people she loved. Who was he to let the legacy of Elena Gilbert die?

He couldn't be that selfish. Not with Elena. She deserved so much better than stifled principles, and Stefan desperately wanted to be worthy of her. He respected her choice, much as he despised himself for it. So he saved her friend first, preserving one drop of her happiness in an ocean of tragic memories. Even if she had to suffer an eternity for that happiness. Even if she deserved far more than a life of death and bloodlust and self-hate. Even if she hated Stefan forever for the consequences he forced upon her.

Because it wasn't Stefan's choice to make; it was hers.

It was her choice. Her _choice_. _Elena's_ choice.

This last revelation was the only thing that gave Stefan any semblance of comfort when he had stood over Elena's body in the cold silence of the morgue, agonizing over her fate and the part he had played in it. This one thought became his mantra, and he clung to it desperately as a drowning man clings to a life raft, lest he be swept away by his own rage and despair and regret. He knew it was a poor defense at best. (Her choice. His choice. In the end, did it really make a difference?) But in the end, it was all he had.

Stefan forced his eyes to meet Damon's, which were practically screaming at him to contradict his accusation, begging him to deny that Elena's death was avoidable, that _Stefan_ of all people chose anyone over the girl they both loved. But, of course, he had nothing to offer but disappointment.

"She begged me to save Matt first. And I…" he paused, knowing his next words would ring hollow and just incite his brother's rancor yet again. "I respected her choice."

Damon stared at him in disbelief. "Great, Stefan. Leave it to you to turn an act of chivalry into a Greek tragedy. And while you were off _respecting her choice_," he sneered, throwing Stefan's words back at him, "and earning your title as Boyfriend of the Year, you let the most important person in our lives _die_!" Damon took a menacing step forward, his icy blue eyes narrowing. "Really, brother, _bravo_."

But Stefan didn't back down; if anything, his brother's well-aimed barbs finally ignited the spark of anger hidden beneath the layers of guilt. "You think I'm happy about this?" he shot back, defensive. "I was there the day Elena told me she never wanted to be a vampire."

And as quickly as it had come, Stefan felt the fight leave him, making room once again for the grief he desperately wanted to block out. Trying to regain control of the emotions clouding his mind, he closed his eyes briefly and began massaging his temple with his thumb and forefinger. "And I never wanted this life for her," he finished quietly.

"Then you shouldn't have let her die!" Damon exclaimed, pressing his advantage. Stefan's eyes flew open. "And what if she hadn't had my blood in her system at the time, huh? What then, Stefan? We'd be _burying_ her, all because you couldn't handle a few of her tears over some collateral damage!"

Stefan knew he was right. Elena's happiness… it was his Achilles' heel. It always had been, ever since he had met her. She had already suffered far too much in her young life, and he'd do _anything_ to make her smile. In a cruel twist of fate, it seemed the definition of 'anything' now included sacrificing her humanity, spiraling from the subsequent guilt, and reigniting his brother's on-again-off-again loathing for the next century. Damon had promised him an eternity of misery, after all, way back when they had first turned. At least Stefan was doing his part to earn it.

Now there was nothing left to do but face the consequences.

"I made a choice, one that I will regret for the rest of my existence," Stefan said, emphasizing the last few words. Given his brother's lack of response, they did little to earn him sympathy. "Hate me all you want, Damon. You can't possibly hate me as much as I hate myself."

Damon's lips quirked into a cruel smile. "Don't underestimate me, brother."

Before Stefan could reply, they were interrupted by a shrill scream resonating on the other side of the door, followed by a collection of panicked, heaving sobs.

_Elena_.

Damon clearly came to the same conclusion, his eyes meeting Stefan's in a shared look of understanding.

"We can go ten rounds later," he relented, anger giving way to rising concern at the sound of Elena's distress call. "Sounds like Sleeping Beauty's awake."

* * *

Elena ached all over. Whatever adrenaline had been building in her system prior to her outburst was already receding, leaving her body completely and utterly spent.

Not only that, but her throat was still parched, and instinctively she knew that it wasn't water she was craving.

It was blood. Warm, flowing, human blood.

It shocked her to realize that the bloodlust was already beginning. And she was in a hospital of all places, surrounded not only by blood bags, but also living, blissfully ignorant human donors. Without even concentrating, Elena could make out the dull thrum of a hundred hearts beating a merciless cacophony, all sound and chaos, calling her, sending her already frazzled senses on overdrive.

Elena inhaled, closing her eyes in desire. The sound of flowing blood was tempting, but the _smell_… the smell was what was truly intoxicating. It called to her in a way that nothing had ever tantalized her before. It was like she had tunnel-vision, shutting out all else except thoughts of the most vital, _wonderful_ substance in existence…

She was so distracted by the sweet, coppery scent that she almost missed someone calling her name.

Whirling to face the door, Elena nearly sobbed with relief as soon as she saw Stefan walk through the entrance of the morgue. She rushed forward and flung her arms around him, desperate for the comfort of his embrace. No matter how crazy things seemed in their messed up world, he had always been able to anchor her to sanity, as if his arms had some magical ability to keep her emotions from flying in a thousand directions at once.

"Stefan," she sighed.

Glancing over his shoulder, Elena was surprised to see another familiar face join them. "Damon?"

Last she had heard, he was a hundred miles outside Mystic Falls dealing with their latest crisis: hiding Klaus' desiccated body from Alaric's vampire-hating alter-ego and his indestructible white oak stake. Ironically, protecting Klaus had been the only way to protect her loved ones, as they were unfortunately the vampire descendants of the Original hybrid himself. But in the end, not even Damon could stop his old friend from staking Klaus, killing him once and for all. And Elena had spoken to Damon right after it had happened.

The phone call. The last conversation she thought they would ever have. It all came rushing back to her…

* * *

_When Elena knew that it was all over, that every member of Klaus' bloodline would die, all she could spare Damon was a lousy phone call. It was far less than what he deserved._

_As always, Elena was stuck in limbo, caught between the Salvatore brothers, endlessly wavering between them with her indecisiveness. Only this time, the stakes were higher than ever. This time she was _literally_ halfway between Stefan and Damon, and she had no time left for stalling. If Klaus was telling the truth about siring their bloodline, they would both be dead within the hour. _

_It wasn't until that moment, in that final hour when fate forced her hand, that Elena realized how much she truly cared for both brothers, and how much it killed her to let one go, let alone both. She had always believed that she hadn't chosen sooner because, as Klaus put it, she was afraid of destroying their brotherly bond. But deep down, she knew the real reason, and it wasn't selfless at all. It was her most guarded secret, but she couldn't ignore the truth anymore. _

_Elena didn't delay choosing for their sake; she did it for _hers_._

_She was too selfish to let either of them go. She wanted—needed—both of them in her life. She couldn't lose anyone else she loved._

It's okay to love them both. I did.

_Katherine Pierce's immortal words echoed in her mind, tormenting her with their infinite truth. Had Elena ever thought she was any better than her?_

_After all, Elena had fallen into the same pitfall as her ancestors before her, even knowing full well the consequences of getting caught between two brothers. And she could try to blame her dilemma on the curse of being the doppelganger, but she eventually had to acknowledge that she had no one to blame but herself. Regardless of her feelings and her heritage, her choices were entirely her own. Or rather, her reluctance to choose._

_And now, Elena had to make that choice: As time faded around them with Stefan and Damon on their deathbeds, who got the final goodbye? _

_She chose Stefan._

_He was her rock, her everything, and as Caroline would say, her "epic love." Being with him was as easy and wonderful as breathing, and many of her happiest memories were spent with him. He had brought her back to life once, and not just because he had saved her from drowning the night her parents died. When they had first met for real, she fell for him instantly because he made her feel alive again. For the first time since that tragic night, she was glad that she didn't die along with her parents._

And that's what love should be, _she remembered herself saying only hours ago_. You should love the person that makes you glad that you're alive.

_And that should have been the end of it, but of course there was the added complication: Damon. He had wormed his way into her stubborn heart so gradually that she hardly knew when it first began. He had this way of unnerving her, but not in a repellant way; his ability to unsettle her actually attracted her even more. He challenged her, he pushed her to her limits, and he forced her to question everything she thought she knew. Being around him was anything but easy, but Elena had to admit it was exhilarating. And ever since she had met him, there was just no shaking him from her system, no matter what. At least, not completely. _

_Perhaps not ever._

_That's why it had shattered her heart to hurt him so deeply with that lame goodbye phone call. To not be there for him when he needed her most. To choose his brother over him, again._

* * *

Elena felt Stefan give her a gentle, reassuring squeeze, bringing her thoughts back to the present. With that last unhappy memory in mind, she was naturally a little wary of greeting Damon as he stood with her in the morgue, but she couldn't deny how happy she was to see him. To see both brothers at her side.

"You're both here," she heard herself say.

Damon threw her one of his typical tight-lipped, off-kilter smiles in acknowledgement, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. Clearly the tension she felt between them wasn't just her imagination.

Focusing her attention back on Stefan, Elena pulled back slightly to gaze into his warm, green eyes.

"But how? I thought both of you were dying?"

Stefan shook his head, looking as much at a loss as Elena felt. "Klaus must have lied about being the sire of our bloodline. It's the only explanation for how we're all still alive."

Elena was quiet as she considered that. It made sense enough, but his final words reminded her of the most important matter she needed to address.

After a moment of internal struggle, Elena finally forced herself to utter the words she was terrified of having confirmed. "But I'm not, am I? Alive." It wasn't a question.

Stefan's gaze dropped to the floor before he slowly brought it back to meet hers, tears forming in his eyes. The look on his face just about broke her heart. His anguish was plain to see, and Elena couldn't help wondering what he must have gone through while she was unconscious, blaming himself for her condition.

"I'm so sorry, Elena," he whispered.

"Don't, Stefan," she protested, placing a comforting hand on his cheek. "You just did what I—oh my God, Matt!" she exclaimed, suddenly filled with alarm. "Where is he? Is he okay? Did you—"

"He's alive, Elena," he assured her.

She let out a shaky breath in relief, smiling sadly as she thanked him with every bit of sincerity she felt.

Elena had no doubt that Stefan would always feel regret and guilt over his decision to save Matt first. But in time, she hoped that he would accept the choice he had made and understand that he had done the right thing. Elena hated that she put him in such an awful position, but she would always be grateful that Stefan made the best of it for her sake. He always did. It was one of the best things about him.

But clearly Damon didn't think so, which he made perfectly clear when he finally decided to speak up for the first time.

"Yes," he sneered, lacing that one syllable with more sarcasm than Elena thought possible. "Let's all thank Stefan, the _hero_, for his public service." His voice was as harsh as a whip, completely devoid of the sympathy she had seen in his eyes only moments before.

Turning to his brother, Damon added, "If I see any gift baskets from the Mystic Falls High School football team on our doorstep, I'll be sure and forward them along to you."

"Damon, don't—"

"Don't what, Elena? Don't tell it like it is?" he cut across her. "Sorry, not my style."

Stefan looked angry. "Back off, Damon. Now's not the time—"

Feeling helpless, Elena's eyes abruptly glistened with fresh tears. She was already unstable without the added frustration of the hostile turn this conversation was taking.

"Listen," she addressed Damon again, inhaling deeply to strengthen her resolve. She immediately regretted the action. Once again, her olfactory senses were brutally assaulted by the strong, tantalizing scent of fresh blood drifting from nearby hospital patients down the corridor. Stefan and Damon had provided a welcome distraction before, but now it seemed they were just adding fuel to the fire.

Elena tried once again to finish her thought, but for the life of her—_what's left of it_, she thought idly—she couldn't even remember what she had been trying to say. The more she tried to focus, the heavier the fogginess in her mind became until it was nearly impossible to ignore. She couldn't tell if it was the bloodlust, her heightened emotions, the exhaustion from fighting them, or some bizarre combination of all three battling for dominance, but whatever this overwhelming sensation was, it nearly brought her to her knees.

"Elena?" Stefan sounded worried, but she couldn't confirm it by reading his expression. When had she shut her eyes?

She felt strong hands grip her upper arms, keeping her upright, and she instinctively knew it was Stefan supporting her.

"Looks like we'll have to continue our little reunion later." Damon. He too sounded concerned, all animosity apparently forgotten for the time being.

"We need to get her out of here. She's unstable with this much blood around."

"A hospital isn't exactly the most accommodating environment for an almost-newbie vamp. Right." Elena detected Damon's almost business-like shift in tone. "Meredith said no one else saw you bring her in tonight. I'll stay here and make sure it stays that way. You just get her back to HQ, keep her safe."

Elena felt Stefan carefully sweep her up into his arms, one under her knees and the other protectively encircling her shoulders. Damon's voice calling after them was the last thing Elena heard before she succumbed to the overwhelming urge to sleep.

"And if I were you, brother, I'd avoid taking any bridges."

* * *

For the second time in the last twenty-four hours, Elena woke up aching, disoriented, and unsettled. This time, at least, it was in the comfort of an actual bed.

Even still she didn't relax, keeping her eyes squeezed shut as she recalled all that had transpired. Her life had been completely turned upside down, and it wasn't about to get any easier. She was still in transition to become a vampire; if anything, her troubles were only just beginning.

Banishing those heavy thoughts for the moment, Elena immediately noticed something she hadn't when she first stirred from sleep: a pounding cadence echoing throughout her room. Somehow, that sound was incredibly enticing, its rhythm as hypnotic as a siren's song calling to a love-struck sailor. And combined with that sweet smell…

Wait, what?

It only took Elena two seconds to solve the mystery: She wasn't alone. Someone—a _human_—was with her, and they were close. Too close.

Their pulse hammered a steady beat against her eardrums and made their presence impossible to ignore. Elena could literally hear the blood pumping through their veins; smell the sweet, coppery scent so much clearer than in the hospital; sense just how _near_ its source was, sitting in her room, waiting for her. Alone, unaware, vulnerable. Practically _begging_ her to give in to her new, predatory nature.

Unwittingly Elena felt an aching in her gums, the hint of elongated canines eager to force their way through and tap into a pulsing blood vessel; eager to feel the delicious, warm liquid coat her parched throat… She had never understood until that moment how just the _thought_ of blood could appeal so strongly to vampires. A craving so strong that it often stripped them of their humanity, leaving a trail of blood and corpses in their wake.

That horrifying image was enough to sober her up. Eyes flying open, Elena gasped in horror as she fought to reign in the sudden urge to leap from her covers and turn her bedside companion into her first human meal.

The next thing she heard chased that desire away almost completely. Almost.

"You're awake."

Elena froze, disbelieving, as a wave of relief swept through her, quelling her baser instincts for the time being. She would recognize that voice anywhere. It belonged to the person she wanted to see more than any other, and as long as he was here, with her, then maybe her life wasn't as hopeless as she believed.

Even if she was more than a little tempted to drink his blood.

"Jeremy," she breathed, her voice thick from exhaustion… and from thirst. But even that detail couldn't derail her happiness at hearing her younger brother's voice. Grateful for his company, Elena hastily pushed her comforter away and rolled over to see him smiling at her from the window seat.

Something about her appearance must have troubled him, because he suddenly leaned forward, scrutinizing her. He looked worried—understandable, given the circumstances. "Are you okay? You've been out of it for a while now."

It was true. Until Elena had moved to face Jeremy, she hadn't noticed the sunbeams pooling through her open window, bathing a large portion of her bedroom with its warm, soft glow (although it seemed much brighter than that to her). If the sun had been up long enough to illuminate her room this much, then she must have slept for several hours at least.

A subtle movement above Jeremy's head caught her eye: A hanging decoration she had had since she was little, something she saw every day without a second thought, swayed in the gentle breeze coming through her open window. Sunlight pierced the dangling crystals like prisms, casting several rainbows onto her floor. She watched colorful shapes dance across the surface—for how long, she wasn't sure—but she was oddly fascinated by their genuine beauty. They were their own natural works of art. She could practically see individual beams of light, they were so detailed—where exactly the red turned into red-orange, and red-orange became pure orange, which faded into a lighter orange the exact shade of the sun on a warm, summer day in the South. Such a display probably would have gone unnoticed to anyone else (any _human_, at least) but Elena could see _everything_—an idea that terrified her as much as it excited her.

Back and forth, back and forth, the rainbows scuttled across the floor, and Elena watched them, mesmerized. There was a sense of freedom about them that she envied, silly as that sounded. _I'd much rather be one of these rainbows, _Elena thought wistfully. _A creature of the light… not darkness._

Hearing a cough from Jeremy, she realized she never answered his question.

"I'm… dealing," she settled on, meeting his gaze. The light behind him was intense, invading the sanctuary of her room and spreading like an infectious disease. She winced slightly and drew back—an action that didn't go unnoticed by her brother.

He quickly located the source of her discomfort, and, mumbling an apology, jumped up to draw her window and curtains shut. And while her eyes rejoiced at the absence of pain, for a brief moment Elena mourned the loss of light and the lovely little rainbows. They were as much slaves to the dark as she would be to the sun—yet another cold reminder that for every perk of vampirism, like her ability to perceive just how glorious those rainbows were, there would always be a drawback. A sacrifice.

"You don't have to put on a brave front for me, Elena."

"I'm fine, Jer. Really," she insisted.

He clearly wasn't buying it. "I know you better than that. You say everything's okay, even when you're falling to pieces—"

"I said I'm fine, okay?" she snapped, sudden annoyance fueling her words. Why couldn't he just leave it alone?

At the sight of her brother's startled expression, Elena's features immediately softened as she felt the anger evaporate as quickly as it had come, only to be replaced by a flood of remorse.

"I'm sorry, I… I didn't mean that." She sighed, shaking her head. "My emotions have been a little more—no, a _lot_ more—demanding since I first woke up in transition."

Jeremy flashed her a small, sympathetic smile. "When I saw Ric's ghost… I thought you were gone for good." He shook his head, as if trying to dispel the painful memory. "You can yell if you want. Hell, go crazy if you need to. Honestly, I'm just glad you're still with me."

Elena didn't know how much she needed to hear those words until he just said them, and she felt a real surge of love for her brother. She hated that he was suffering right along with her, but there would be plenty of time to mull that over later. Right now, something else he mentioned stole her attention. "You saw Ric?"

He nodded. "The _real_ Ric. Not his evil twin," he joked before his expression turned solemn once again. "He was sorry about what happened to you, Elena. He never wanted this to happen."

"I know. But I was supposed to die, Jer. I was _ready_ to die. I accepted it."

It wasn't until she said the words out loud that she realized none of this made sense. She _should_ have died, so why didn't she? Or rather, how did she become _undead_?

"Wait a minute, I never drank… I mean, how did I…?" She was at a complete loss, but thankfully Jeremy understood her confusion.

"Have vampire blood in your system before you died?" he finished for her. "Stefan called me last night. Apparently, when I brought you to the hospital yesterday, your head injury was critical, much worse than Dr. Fell told me. I guess she didn't want me to worry, so she healed you with some of Damon's blood and kept it quiet."

Elena nodded as she slowly digested the new piece of information. Maybe part of her should have been upset with Meredith for putting her in this terrible position, but she just couldn't bring herself to blame her good intentions. Meredith had saved her life yesterday, and not just from her head injury. Without Damon's blood, Elena would have died for good when she drowned—and she never would have gotten a second chance. Whether she transitioned or not, at the very least Elena got to live on borrowed time long enough to see her loved ones again. Even if she ultimately used her time simply to tell them goodbye.

When Elena finally spoke, her voice wavered, defeated. "I guess my number was up one way or another. You were right, Jeremy." His eyebrows lifted at that. "This whole town… it's toxic. And I was an idiot to think I could continue down the dangerous path I was on and survive without consequence."

Jeremy said nothing—neither of them could deny the truth of her words, after all—but from the look on his face, he seemed to be having some sort of internal debate.

But Elena couldn't focus on that. Her emotional instability, heightened by the raging hormones fueling her supernatural metamorphosis, was getting the best of her yet again, leaving her prone to her baser instincts. And right now, those instincts were honed in on the thick vein twitching in her little brother's neck. His pulse pounded a violent tattoo in her head, amplified by the silence stretching between them. Between predator and prey.

Elena suddenly felt horrified with herself. How could she possibly thinking of her little brother as _prey_? She would die before she ever hurt him.

And yet, ever since she had begun transitioning, blood was always on her mind. It consumed her every thought, if she were being honest. Sure, there were times when she distracted herself, but it was only temporary—the craving was always there, buried just beneath the surface, itching to unleash the monster within her, the one pushing her to _grab, bite, drink_ and revel in the hedonism of it all, something she had never allowed herself to do before, burdened as she was by her compassion. And she knew, she just _knew_, if she gave in, the pain would stop—the burning in her throat, her ears, her gums; the grief she had suffered time and time again as her loved ones continued to die on her, _because_ of her. All of it would be over. She wouldn't have to feel any of it. She could be numb to the pain, delight in the ecstasy. And all it would take to make it reality was the magical elixir pulsing through the delicate veins of the human sitting across from her. It would be so easy…

_No_, she refused. She wouldn't let the monster win. But the allure was undeniably strong. How long could she hold out before she gave in?

"Elena, there's something you should know," Jeremy finally said, yanking her back to the conversation at hand. He hesitated—not much, but Elena knew her brother well. It was enough to put her on guard.

Jeremy suddenly stood and closed the distance between them, taking a seat next to Elena on the edge of her bed—an action so abrupt that the monster nearly reared its ugly head right then and there. She took several deep breaths in what she hoped was a discreet attempt to suppress her inner demon. If Jeremy saw through her, he didn't say, focused as he was on whatever it was he was about to tell her. Despite his uncomfortably close proximity, Elena noticed how serious Jeremy looked and found herself impatient to listen to his words, not his pulse.

She saw the resolve form in his eyes before he spoke again. "Bonnie and I… we're looking for a way out of this. A way to stop the transition."

Elena inhaled sharply, her bloodlust all but forgotten. "What? Is that even possible?"

"I don't know," he admitted. "But Bonnie once made some kind of deal with the spirits to save _my_ life. Maybe she can do the same for you."

"But the consequences were horrible," she objected, remembering how Bonnie had breached the veil to the Other Side, the realm that contained the spirits of dead supernatural beings, and inadvertently saddled Jeremy with the ability to see and communicate with them.

"And what could be worse than you becoming a vampire?" he countered. "You're not going to be one of them, Elena. Not if we can save you."

Elena was skeptical, but couldn't stop the bubble of hope swelling within her. There was still a chance. She could be normal. She could grow up. Have a family. Be _human_.

But was there any sort of precedent for reversing vampirism? Elena vaguely recalled that the Original witch Esther had planned to turn her children human again in order to kill them. Was it possible for any other witch to perform such a spell? Or did it have to be her, the one who created vampires in the first place? Or maybe there was some loophole hidden within the numerous pages of one of the grimoires in Bonnie's possession? Elena scarcely dared to dream.

She shook her head in bewilderment. There were too many unlikely scenarios. Too many what-ifs and possibilities that could go wrong. But she knew that if anyone could find a way to help her, it would be Bonnie. She always came through, even when Elena asked for far too much.

But still—

"What if it doesn't work?"

Without hesitation, Jeremy reached over and pulled his sister in for a hug. It was heaven and hell. Elena loved her brother dearly and knew he meant well, but his innocent gesture flooded her senses and sent her predatory instincts reeling. Like the flip of a switch, the smell of his blood intensified from barely tolerable to overwhelming. His steady heartbeat, now only inches from her sensitive ears, pounded like a battering ram inside her skull. But worst of all, what was once a dull ache in her gums strengthened into a stabbing pain as she felt her dormant fangs begin their descent, impatient to pierce the delicate flesh of her brother's neck. Elena stiffened in his embrace as she tried to regain control of the impulses.

But Jeremy had already moved away, holding her at arms-length to look her straight in the eyes.

"No matter what happens, you'll always be my sister. Even if you're one of them," he emphasized, gifting her with a ghost of a smile. "But until that time comes, we won't stop until we find a way."

* * *

As Bonnie Bennett made her way into the dark, silent tunnels of the old Lockwood cellar, it felt like she was walking straight into the lion's den. Which didn't make a whole lot of sense since it was her idea to meet there in the first place.

Entering the main chamber, she immediately noticed a familiar ornate casket resting innocently in the middle of the room as if it belonged there. Bonnie stared at it in confusion, and couldn't help the slight feeling of déjà vu that crept up from her subconscious. Wasn't this how one of her dreams started when this whole mess began? Except there had been four coffins, and she had been in the old house where the spirits of a hundred dead witches hid them from their enemies. And yet, something about her current circumstances felt strangely familiar…

_A dream. It was just an old dream_, she reminded herself.

Bonnie slowly crept up to the coffin and reached out a hesitant hand towards the lid. Taking a deep breath, she steeled her resolve and without further reluctance, threw open the lid before she could change her mind. And somehow, she wasn't at all surprised by what she found inside. Or rather, _who_.

It was the Original hybrid himself. Klaus.

But it wasn't, not really. Because Bonnie knew that the body lying in the coffin was nothing more than just an empty shell—a very burnt, very desiccated shell.

Over half of his face, neck, and torso was a charred mess. Where flesh still remained, thick black veins snaked beneath the surface of his translucent gray skin, parched from the desiccation spell still in effect. Bonnie had never seen him look so… helpless, and she couldn't stop the rush of pride that coursed through her knowing that her magic had made it so. Now, Klaus was certainly a far cry from the man that had ruthlessly terrorized Mystic Falls ever since he first rolled into town with his hybrid-crazed agenda.

Ever since that day, Klaus' face had haunted her nightmares. He was the most feared and most powerful being in the world, the catalyst for so much misery inflicted upon her and her friends' lives. He murdered Jenna, and even Elena, during the sacrifice to break his hybrid curse; he deprived Stefan of his humanity and forced him to once again become the self-loathing, murderous Ripper; he turned Tyler into one of his many sired hybrid minions; and nearly killed Jeremy, Caroline, and Bonnie herself on multiple occasions. Hell, he even carted around his siblings, those he professed to care about, in coffins with daggers shoved in their hearts. There was no doubt in Bonnie's find: He was a complete monster.

And yet, despite his claim to power and immortality, Bonnie had been among the few to finally take him down, leaving him in an impotent state to rot for eternity. It was no less than what he deserved, and at the time, she celebrated that he was finally out of their lives for good.

She should have known that in Mystic Falls, the monsters only stay in the dark for so long.

The respite from Klaus's reign of terror hadn't lasted even one day before Bonnie had grudgingly spared his life to save the lives of her loved ones from Alaric's plan to rid the world of vampires. The fact that Klaus, of all the Originals, sired her friends' and mother's bloodline must have been some kind of cruel cosmic joke—but such is the supernatural karma of Mystic Falls.

For all her selfless intentions, however, Bonnie knew that the spirits of the dead witches would surely scorn her action—siding with vampires, whose very existence defied the sacred laws of nature—as a betrayal. But Bonnie couldn't bring herself to regret her decision. If their rage and retribution was the price to pay to save her family, then so be it. It was worth it.

Not to mention, Bonnie found her new independence utterly _exhilarating_.

Gazing down at Klaus's hollow body, she wrinkled her nose in a mixture of revulsion and confusion. What bothered Bonnie even more than the fact that his body had somehow survived an impromptu cremation was the question of how it came to be here, in the cellar, where she was supposed to be meeting its owner.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" a voice called out from the shadows.

Speak of the devil.

If she didn't know better, Bonnie would have said that it was Tyler Lockwood speaking. It was _his_ voice, after all. But despite recognizing it, she heard the familiar underlying drawl that clearly belonged to another creature altogether.

"What is _that_ doing here, Klaus?" Bonnie demanded, gesturing to the coffin as she slammed the lid shut.

"Have a care, Bonnie." His reply was more amused than reproachful. "That's precious cargo you're manhandling." Despite inhabiting Tyler's body, the characteristic lilt of Klaus' speech was more pronounced than ever, cementing his true identity in Bonnie's mind once and for all.

"Why is your body here?" she repeated. "Or more importantly, _how_? I thought it burned to ash when Alaric staked you."

His lips slowly curved upwards. "As did I. But in a rather fortunate turn of events, it seems your teacher isn't quite as smart as the education system would have you believe. Good thing he taught history, not science."

Klaus looked at her expectantly, but Bonnie wasn't following his roundabout train of thought. "What do you mean?"

"As a servant of nature, I would have expected you to have a rudimentary understanding of the physics of fire," he tsked her, voice thick with condescension. And given the smug expression on his face, he clearly enjoyed lording his advantage over her.

Bonnie pursed her lips but otherwise ignored the insult, simply waiting for him to elaborate.

It wasn't long before he obliged. "If the teacher intended to destroy me completely, he should have let the flames consume my entire body. Instead, he closed the coffin prematurely, deprived the fire of oxygen, and consequently left my body intact." He grinned, a cruel smile that sent a shiver down Bonnie's spine. "His ignorance equals my survival. A rather pleasant twist of fate, I'd say. Although," he added, frowning down at his temporary body, "the choice of real estate does leave something to be desired."

Still smarting from his jab at her inexperience, and annoyed that even in a vulnerable state Klaus was as arrogant as ever, Bonnie couldn't resist the chance to even the score. "Why? Is there something wrong with your current form?"

She couldn't help feeling disappointment when he remained unmoved by her insolence, shrugging loftily. "It served its purpose. But aside from the Lockwood boy being an inferior vessel, this body is also a liability. It became vulnerable when the teacher outed him and set the Council on a warpath. Which brings us to why you're here." His eyes darkened perceptibly as he informed her, "You're going to put me back."

"I'm here because I called you, not the other way around," she coolly reminded him.

Perhaps it wasn't her smartest move, provoking an impatient, not to mention very _deadly_ Original, but the urgency of her new objective didn't leave much time to be subtle. If she was going to get what she came for, she had to be both upfront with her intentions and assertive in demanding them. With his disdain for weakness, Klaus wouldn't respond favorably to anything less.

And unfortunately, despite having an edge over him in his current state, Bonnie still needed his cooperation.

"I need more time," she blurted. "There's been a… complication."

_Really, Bonnie?_ _That's the best you've got? _she chided herself, cursing her lame excuse. Klaus wasn't exactly known for accepting vague explanations.

Then again, he wasn't likely to be merciful upon full disclosure, either.

His dark reply proved her correct. "Unless it impedes your ability to perform magic, it doesn't concern me."

Although annoyed by his dismissal, Bonnie wasn't surprised, nor was she deterred; after all, she had expected as much from someone so used to getting his own way, and his predictability in this regard somehow strengthened her resolve. With nothing left to lose, Bonnie decided to switch gears and opt for the only strategy that stood a fighting chance with him: brutal honesty.

"Your sister killed Elena last night," she shot back with more bravery than she felt. "She's in transition. So yes, it does concern you."

If he was surprised by her declaration, he hid it well. "On the contrary, love. Elena Gilbert ceased to be my problem the moment Esther tied her life to Alaric's. From then on, it was only a matter of time before she met her end. Although, I admit, I would have preferred squeezing out a few more pints of her doppelganger blood first…" He trailed off, obviously delighted with Bonnie's expression of horror and disgust. "However, at least my sister had the good sense to finish the job before my mother's creation exterminated my siblings and I along with the entire vampire race."

And with that, he closed the remaining gap between them with slow, deliberate steps, his hands carelessly clasped behind his back—an obvious intimidation tactic, and even in Tyler's body it was having the desired effect. Bonnie suppressed the shudder building within her, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing her visibly rattled. Keeping her feet firmly in place, Bonnie held her chin high and crossed her arms over her chest, anxious to keep some sort of physical barrier between them, despite how hollow the gesture felt.

As if reading her thoughts, Klaus smiled at her discomfort. "So now that we've exhausted that rather irrelevant topic, Witch, I suggest you stop stalling. Put me back. _Now_." He leaned in closer, his breath teasing her face. "I won't ask again."

This time, Bonnie did shudder. She knew this was no empty threat. Klaus had proven time and time again that he could get to anyone, anywhere, at any time. But, she reminded herself, she was a capable witch who had already suffered far too much at the hands of the man before her. She'd be damned if he kept her from saving Elena, too.

Bonnie stood her ground. "And I told you, I need more time," she insisted with renewed force. "If I can keep Elena from transitioning, I might be able to make her human again."

"A touching sentiment, but also a pipedream. One that doesn't concern me, and thus doesn't concern you." His casual tone sounded forced—too much so. Bonnie knew she couldn't push the Original much further without suffering the consequences.

Time for a last resort strategy.

"I think you're forgetting who just saved your life," Bonnie replied coldly. "And I don't take orders from you."

The sudden shift in atmosphere was palpable, and from the ominous pause that lingered after her last statement, Bonnie knew she had finally gone too far. After all, provoking Klaus was about as wise as waving a red flag right in front of an angry bull.

Except, at least with the bull you stood a chance at walking away with your heart still beating in your chest.

Klaus' face was unreadable, but Bonnie still sensed the imminent threat behind the calm facade. In a way, it was more terrifying than if he had just lashed out at her. "You seem to be laboring under the delusion that you and I are equals in this partnership. Allow me to set the record straight."

Before she could even register the movement, his hand flashed out and seized her throat roughly, choking off any retort she might have uttered. He lifted her up, slowly, until her toes barely scratched the ground. Bonnie was sorely tempted to give him a witch aneurism, bursting the blood vessels in his brain until he was forced to let her go, but she knew that would only make him angrier. And in this case, angrier equaled deadlier.

Panicking, she uselessly clawed at his hand as she felt the air begin to leave her lungs.

"You may be a powerful witch, Bonnie Bennett," he growled, finally letting the mask drop, "but I am much older, much smarter, and much more dangerous than you will ever be. Never forget that."

"If I can keep Elena human," she managed to get out between gasps, "then you'll still have an endless blood supply to create your hybrid army. And isn't that what you really want?"

Klaus relaxed his grip in astonishment, and Bonnie greedily sucked in a lungful of air. Though in pain, she briefly glimpsed the indecision warring behind his eyes as he considered her words. It was the most effective argument she could have made, and she idly wondered why she hadn't thought to use it before everything escalated.

He recovered quickly, hardening his gaze and retightening his grip around her throat in warning. "You had better not be lying to me, Witch."

Klaus may be well versed in sealing off his emotions, but Bonnie still detected the veiled desperation behind his threat. She was his only chance at keeping alive a dream that he'd harbored for over a millennium. He _needed_ to believe her, just as much as she needed him to.

"I already have a plan in the works," she insisted, revealing as little as possible. "I'll need to do some more research, and then it's just a matter of whether or not I'm strong enough to execute it."

Bonnie watched Klaus consider her request for several long seconds until she felt his fingers slowly ease their hold on her throat. The relief was immediate. She massaged her sore neck as air rushed back into her aching lungs. Once she finished coughing, the pain finally receding from her chest, she chanced a look back at him. What she saw surprised her.

If Bonnie didn't know better, she would have said she saw something akin to grudging respect flit across the Original hybrid's face. Well, that would certainly be an interesting development. Was he actually amused by her audacity? That she had successfully manipulated a deal out of him?

But the look was gone before she could analyze it further, and Klaus's demeanor was once again stone-cold and all business. "Very well. I'll grant you additional time, but I expect you to keep me informed of your progress."

Bonnie gave a reluctant nod and turned towards the entrance of the cellar, eager to part ways with present company.

"Oh, and Bonnie?" he called out to her a final time, forcing her to glance back over her shoulder. "Same rules apply. Complete discretion with regards to my whereabouts and my… condition." He sent her a final chilling smile, so cruel and completely _un-Tyler_ that she nearly felt sick. "Good luck, love. Don't disappoint me."

Stomach rolling, Bonnie spun around and exited the cellar without another word. Klaus' final warning rang loud and clear in her mind. And even though the young witch was doing nothing for his sake, it certainly felt like she had just made a deal with the devil.

What in the world had she just gotten herself into?

* * *

Across the living room of the Gilbert house, Damon lounged on the couch, watching Jeremy as he finished descending the stairs. He had been waiting for the little blabbermouth, having caught the tail-end of his oh-so-candid conversation with his sister, and was anxious to figure out just what the hell he was thinking.

Telling Elena she might be cured? That she might still have a chance at staying human? _Really_? How delusional was this kid?

"Way to get her hopes up for something that's never happened in the history of vampirism, Gilbert." Without warning, Damon flashed in front of Jeremy, narrowing his eyes as he leaned forward. "Really, well done."

Jeremy scoffed at the vampire, apparently unimpressed by his dramatics. Okay, he got points for that. "You know what? Screw you. Bonnie says she's stronger than ever and if anyone can find a solution, it's her."

Well. Looks like _somebody _ate their Wheaties this morning.

"No disrespect to our resident witch," Damon held up in hands in mock-supplication, "but what exactly does Sabrina expect to find, huh? A magic wand that will hocus pocus Elena back into a human? Some magical reversal spell that allows you to turn back time?" he quipped. "Hate to break it to you, but my DeLorean's being refurbished at the moment."

Jeremy's eyes flashed, and he took a step forward. Honestly, if Damon wasn't so annoyed, he would have laughed at the gesture. It was almost cute, Gilbert Junior's weak attempt at intimidation; really, he should just stick to fighting those in his own league. Like those killer rabbits in Monty Python. Or maybe a really scary garden gnome.

"My sister's life isn't a joke, dick," Jeremy returned, voice low.

"No," Damon agreed, "but this little fantasy you're trying to sell us _is_."

"A year ago, you didn't even know werewolves existed. So despite your years of experience, you don't know everything."

Damon scoffed. "I know the difference between experimenting with crazy pills and swallowing the whole damn bottle." Weren't drug metaphors the way to this kid's heart, or something? "And you, my friend, are toeing the line in Delusional City. Whatever witch's brew the two of you are cooking up, leave me—and, more importantly, _Elena_—out of it."

Jeremy rolled his eyes in a fashion that practically screamed 'moody teenager,' which, if Damon were being honest—and let's face it, when wasn't he?—was more humorous than rebellious. Then he relaxed, momentarily catching Damon off guard.

"I'm not surprised you're so cynical. I mean, isn't this what you wanted all along?" The question was probably rhetorical, but felt more like a challenge. "For Elena to end up like you?"

Now it was Damon's turn to get angry. "I'd tread carefully if I were you. You have no idea what you're talking about. _None_."

Honestly does this kid have no sense of self-preservation whatsoever? How quickly he forgets what happens to people who provoke an already pissed-off vampire with little to no impulse control. And all it takes is being in the wrong place, wrong time, and _snap_, you're dead. Jeremy should know that better than anyone. He had died at Damon's hands once already.

Good thing he still wore his Gilbert family ring of invincibility—convenient, that. Or inconvenient, depending on how you looked at it. The urge to snap his neck was so very tempting, and he was just going to come back anyway, so really, no (permanent) harm done, right?

But Damon doubted Elena would be quite so forgiving this time around, especially given that these rings apparently had a shelf life, and one too many deaths could easily put Jeremy on the path to follow in Alaric's psycho footsteps. One murderous alter ego is more than enough, thank you very much.

However, Jeremy smartly put an end to his suicide mission by shaking his head, evidently done with the entire conversation.

"Fine, whatever." Clearly, this guy didn't strain his creative muscles coming up with that gem of a comeback. "I'm going to help Bonnie. You do whatever the hell you want."

Without waiting for a reply, Jeremy turned on his heel and made to leave the house.

Well, then. Witty retorts might not be his forte, but wallowing in full-fledged teenaged angst certainly _was_. He and Stefan should start a band or something.

Just the thought of being surrounded by so much incompetence had Damon reaching for the bottle of bourbon he'd swiped from the Gilbert's kitchen. Oddly enough, despite housing two minors, the house never seemed to run dry as of late, thanks in great part to their newly departed guardian—Yeah, probably best not to pull at that particular thread. At least the guy kept this place well stocked. Perhaps not the best parental role model move, but hey—if Jeremy and Elena can take on the badass supernatural creatures that had the rest of this town dropping like flies, then they could certainly handle the big kid juice. It's not like Damon had any right to judge, anyway. Hell, he practically had his bar stool at the Grill reserved for eternity.

Damon raised the bottle in salute. "Thanks for the parting gift, buddy. Wish you were here." It was truer than he cared to admit. But of course, because the sappiness of it all was just too damn much, he buried it like he always did. "Then I'd introduce you to the good stuff, not this cheap swill."

Raising the bottle to his lips, he took a swig and relished the burning sensation it left behind. For a brief instant, it blocked out the insanity of this God-awful day.

"He's not wrong to have hope, you know."

Ah, there he was. Damon was beginning to wonder when Saint Stefan would finally make his grand entrance, eager to right the wrongs of today and deliver one of his infinite sermons. Looks like Damon had driven away one pest only to be replaced by another. Too damn bad for Stefan; Damon was in no mood to humor his little brother about the validity of Little Gilbert and Broomhilda's crazy ass plan.

"He's an idiot." Damon had always preferred candor to beating around the bush; much more effective. Turning around to face his brother, he offered him a grim smile. "But, contrary to what I've said in the past, he's not the dumbest brother on the planet."

The reference to their conversation last night clearly wasn't lost on Stefan. His gaze fell to the floor, which Damon took as his cue to twist the knife a little.

"What the hell were you thinking?"

And thank God Stefan didn't pretend to misunderstand, because if he had, Damon probably would have hit him right then and there. Granted, he was only seconds away from doing it anyway, but still. He wanted to hear what sanctimonious, pain-in-the-ass, _moronic _excuse his brother had for his most epic screw up yet.

On second thought, who was he kidding? Damon would much rather just hit him.

"Not now, Damon," Stefan sighed in one of those familiar I'm-brooding-and-I-need-my-space tones, the kind that Damon had learned a long time ago was easier to indulge, because let's face it: Angsty Stefan was about as much fun to be around as Caroline when her curling iron goes missing. (Translation: it ain't pretty.)

Any other day, Damon would have let it go. But today wasn't just any day.

It was the day Elena freaking _died_.

And unfortunately for his little brother, Damon wasn't in the mood to take prisoners.

"Yes, Stefan, _now_. I told you at the hospital I'd wait till later before I tore you a new one." His smile widened, a predatory glint in his eyes. "Well, it's _later_. Time out's officially over, so it's back into the ring we go."

"What do you want from me?" Stefan returned with exasperation, and Damon was gratified to see his brother's composure finally begin to crack. "I told you why—"

"Yes, you were very clear on that point. What I want to know is _how_."

Seeing Stefan's eyebrows narrow in confusion, Damon elaborated.

"How did you do it? How could you choose someone—anyone!—over Elena?" he demanded. "I want you to tell me how that's possible."

Stefan took a minute to consider his answer, and from the way he kept his fists carefully clenched at his sides, it was costing him a great deal of restraint not to fight fire with fire. Well _that's_ no fun. Seriously, Stefan's self-control could be such a buzzkill sometimes.

"I know it may not seem like it," Stefan began, choosing his words carefully, "but I _was_ putting her first. Her choice, her happiness, her ideals… not her mortality. We've had this discussion before," he pointed out.

Boy, had they.

Stefan respected Elena's choice, and so did Damon. Most of them, anyway. The ones that didn't involve her throwing her life away. That's where Damon called bullshit.

Because sometimes her decisions just plain sucked, and as much as Elena might hate him for it, she needed someone to intervene—not enable her, like Stefan—when her actions plunge her into a death trap.

_Thus, the eternal difference between you and me, brother._

How many more times would he and Stefan have to rehash the whole Alive vs. Happy debate? It felt like all Elena-centric conversations led to this particular fork in the road.

On the one side, you had Stefan the Chivalrous leading Team Happy, which advocated an ill-advised regimen of poor decisions, negligence, and an extra helping of stupidity—hold the logic. And don't forget to sprinkle a dash of moral superiority on top.

Elena wants to meet alone with a one-thousand-year-old resurrected witch with homicidal tendencies? Sure.

She decides to entrust her life with an Original vampire that has repeatedly screwed her over in the past? No problem.

She tries to martyr herself for some nobody because _it would make her happy_, even though she won't even be _alive_ to experience said happiness?

_Over my dead body_, Damon's thought fiercely. _Which is why I'm sired to Team Alive. You know, the one that actually _cares_ if Elena lives or dies._

And let's face it, Elena had to be one of the most self-destructive people he knew. No one came so close to dying as much as this one girl (often _because _of said girl), and frankly, Damon would be surprised if the Grim Reaper didn't have her number on speed dial.

However, a reluctant part of him was willing to admit that Elena's selflessness—_recklessness_ (let's just call a spade a spade)—was one of the things he loved most about her. No one's heart was as big as hers. It's what allowed her to see Damon as more than just a monster.

But good _lord_, he knew that goodness of hers would be the death of him someday. He thought it had been last night, when he believed she was gone for good. It was the worst pain he had ever felt. Not even Katherine's loss, which he had mourned for a century and a half, could compare to that overwhelming despair. A world without Elena Gilbert was a world that held no appeal whatsoever for Damon.

And so he would do whatever it took to keep her alive. If that meant Damon had to be the bad guy, make the tough decisions, deal with collateral damage, so be it. It's not like the world had any shortage of jocks and busboys, anyway. Elena would get over it one day. After all, grief is temporary; death is permanent. And Damon would be damned—pun not intended—if anything, including Elena herself, got in the way of her chance to live a full life. With all the tragedies she's endured, and all the opportunities that lie ahead for her, it's the least he can do. It's what she deserved. And Damon would make sure she got it. Always.

Even if she hated him for it.

Because Damon could live with her hating him; he just couldn't live without _her_.

_God, when did I start sounding like some sappy cliché from one of Blondie's bodice-rippers?_

Shaking his head at the thought, Damon set aside his musings when Stefan spoke again.

"It was the worst decision of my life."

His brother's confession should have gratified Damon's own stance, and yet, it actually had the opposite effect because of three harsh truths staring him in the face:

One: Elena had chosen Stefan, which sucked like you wouldn't believe, but what can you do? The heart wants what the heart wants, and all that jazz.

Two: As if that wasn't bad enough, Stefan somehow didn't choose her back—he had chosen Mattover Elena. _Matt_, for Christ's sakes.

…

Yeah. Enough said.

And three: Stefan actually had the audacity to _regret_ his choice. He had said as much before Elena woke up in transition, but the full impact of his meaning hadn't registered until now, when the sting of Elena's death wasn't quite so fresh. And yet, despite his hero's remorse, he still had everything Damon wished he had: Elena's heart.

Stefan probably couldn't have found a better way to rub vervain in the wound than if he had tried.

Damon glared back at his brother's grave expression. "Shouldn't you celebrating the quarterback's health? Elena's happiness?" he prodded. "Isn't this what you wanted?"

He vaguely recalled Jeremy making a similar accusation just minutes ago, and the irony wasn't lost on him.

Seeing Stefan about to protest, Damon cut across him. "I'll tell you what _I_ want. I want you to stop pretending. Just stop acting like we're so different, that you're somehow better than me, when you wish you had the guts to choose as I would have!" he roared.

It was the hypocrisy that did it, that twisted Damon's insides. Always the same: Stefan does one thing, yet thinks another. It was exactly the same when Damon had forced Elena to drink his blood to ensure that she came back to life after Klaus' creepy sacrifice ritual—a bad move on his part, Damon would admit, but it didn't change the fact that Stefan had wanted the same thing; he just wouldn't admit it. He wanted to keep Elena alive, even as a vampire, but he was always so willing to play the good guy and agree to Elena's ridiculous (not to mention suicidal) terms just to stay in her favor, even when he desperately wanted to act otherwise.

Say what you want about Damon, because lord knew he was as far from a saint as he could get, but at least he was honest. Honest about his intentions to keep Elena alive at any cost, consequences be damned. And here was Stefan, admitting his doubts and wanting to switch teams? Sorry buddy, but Team Alive only takes fully committed applicants who pay their non-refundable registration fee upfront and can perform the secret handshake upon command. No wishy washy members, please and thank you.

So yet again, they were back on that fork in the road, the one that defined the quintessential difference between the two brothers: their regard for Elena and her decisions. (That, and Damon's clearly superior hair.) So when you stripped that factor away, were they really so different after all? Did it even matter?

_Stefan. It's always going to be Stefan. _Elena's words ghosted through his thoughts, crushing any hope that remained.

Because of course it didn't matter. It changed nothing. Elena had said it all before. _No matter what I feel for you, I never un-fell for him._

How tragic.

When Stefan didn't respond to his accusation right away, Damon wasn't surprised. As evidenced by his lifelong struggle to accept his true nature as a vampire, Stefan had always had a problem with the truth. Which was too damn bad, because brutal honesty coupled with a healthy dose of manipulation had always been Damon's weapon of choice. That, and a nice blow to the head.

Time to deliver the final punch.

Damon narrowed his eyes. "I mean, were you really so afraid of her rejection that you'd risk letting her die forever?" he asked, disgusted. "It's pathetic."

For the first time all day, Stefan fought back. Snarling, he flashed forward and slammed Damon into the wall behind him, pinning him in place by his shoulders. His green eyes flashed with all the rage he had kept bottled up, unleashed thanks to Damon's provocation. No more of that resigned, self-loathing crap. Finally, _finally_, Damon got a real reaction out of him.

Although, it was a bit amusing, his baby bro putting on the tough act. Damon knew for a fact that he was back on the bunny diet, so what chance did he think he had against his older, stronger brother?

"What are you going to do, little brother?" Damon taunted. "Stake me?"

"Don't tempt me," Stefan growled.

"Empty threats, Stefan. You haven't followed through on a single one in over a hundred a fifty years."

"I could say the same about you," he shot back. "And why is that? Playing up the good guy routine for Elena's sake?"

Her name from his lips flipped some kind of switch in Damon's head. In an instant, he had their positions switched, Damon's hand pinning Stefan to the wall by his throat.

"Well, well. Seems there's a backbone hidden inside you after all," Damon drawled, reclaiming the upper hand.

He loosened his grasp just enough for Stefan to choke out his next words. "Go ahead, keep making jokes," Stefan managed. "We both know you deflect when you're hiding something. When you're hurt."

Damon's mouth tightened. "Careful, Stef," he warned. "I've been going easy on you, but if you're going to lecture me, I'm not above taking it up a notch."

"Are we back to empty threats again?" A disbelieving laugh escaped from Stefan's throat. "Alright, fine. I'm calling your bluff."

Without warning, Damon's free fist connected with Stefan's jaw, and his head made a satisfying crack as it rebounded off the wall behind him.

"Wrong move, brother. You forget, my motivation hasn't been this strong before." Damon retracted his arm a second time, enjoying the look of anticipation on Stefan's face as he prepared for the blow. "Can't say the same for my restraint."

"_Stop_!"

Both brothers' heads snapped in the direction of the command.

Naturally, Elena chose _now_ to walk in, when it must surely appear as though Damon the bully was tormenting poor, innocent Stefan. (You know, just your typical Damon-Elena-Stefan dysfunctional dynamic. Heaven forbid something upset the status quo.) So it wasn't shocking that her scrutiny felt like she caught him with his hand in the cookie jar.

Did she even know Damon was defending her honor like some kind of ironic white knight? Did she even care?

At this point, even _he_ didn't care. Hell, he was pissed, and nobody, not even Elena freaking Gilbert, was going to stop him from taking it out on the target in front of him.

"Go back upstairs, Elena," he ordered, returning his attention to Stefan. It wouldn't help if he was looking into those disappointed doe eyes. "This is between us brothers."

"No, I heard you fighting all the way upstairs. This is about me," she argued. "Stefan doesn't deserve this, Damon. And hurting him isn't going to fix anything."

"Oh, I wouldn't say that. It'll certainly make me feel better."

"And what about _me_?" She lowered her voice. "Do you think I enjoy seeing the two of you like this?"

"Elena, you don't have to—"

"No, Stefan, I need to say this." Her tone remained firm as she addressed Damon once again. "Look, I know you're mad about what happened, but I'm not." To Stefan, she added, "Matt's alive because of you. I can't thank you enough."

The tenderness with which she assured Stefan nearly made Damon sick. He could see where this was leading, and he really didn't need to see his brother and the girl he loved make goo-goo eyes at each other while they both pretend that last night wasn't the epic disaster Damon knew it to be.

With one final shove, Damon released his hold on Stefan, and finally turned around to face Elena, a look of relief passing over her features. "Well, I can see three's a crowd. Don't let me keep you two kiddos from bonding over your mutually annoying altruistic tendencies."

"Damon—"

His voice was flat as he cut her off. "Oh no. Trust me, I get it."

And he did. He understood it all too clearly. But now he was done fighting it. He was just _done_.

"Your choice, Elena." His eyes briefly flitted back in his brother's direction. "As always."

He didn't give either of them a chance to respond before he disappeared.

* * *

**A/N:** Whew! So there's chapter 1! Future chapters will be shorter on average. This one is almost 12K words—I probably should have split it in half, but couldn't find a good stopping point, so this chapter will just be extra-long. It kind of took on a life of its own, so if you made it all the way through, you have my deepest thanks.

Man, there are so many great scenes/dialogue from 4x01 that I'm having a hard time making these first couple chapters seem original and not just a rehash of that episode. It's necessary to set the stage for future events, so hopefully I'm succeeding. I also took some liberties with vampire transition and how I interpret what Elena might be going through. I've done my best to keep it cannon, so hopefully I haven't deviated too much from that. I'm also trying very hard to keep everyone in character, but I am definitely open to suggestions. And yeah, I stole a bunch of lines from Stefan and gave them to Jeremy. I felt like we need more Elena/Jeremy bonding. Speaking of sibling bonding…

I'll go ahead and make a disclaimer: As you might be able to tell already, I am a big fan of both Damon AND Stefan (go Team Salvatore!), so expect them both to be represented in (near) equal measure. I personally see the merits of both Stelena and Delena, so if you're looking for a Delena story filled with Stefan-bashing, then this probably isn't the story for you, although I do respect everyone's opinions. As for my own opinion, at this point in the series I do think that the story is naturally progressing towards Delena, at least for the time being. But never fear, dear readers; despite all the obstacles in their way, one thing I can assure you is that the end game for this story is definitely Delena. They just might (read: definitely) take their time getting there ;)

Alright, this A/N is waaaay too long, so I'm stepping down from my soap box now. See you all at Chapter 2!


	3. In the Gray

**Disclaimer**: Anything you recognize doesn't belong to me.

**A/N**: To my followers: welcome back! To any newcomers: thanks for stopping by! I hope you like this chapter, although it was definitely a struggle to write for some reason. Maybe because there's not a ton of action? I don't know. I'll admit it's a little bit of a transition chapter (no pun intended, hehe), but there is some important information covered here. Hopefully the Delena bits help to make up for it. I'll let you be the judges ;)

Sorry if there are typos—I tried to edit and post this quickly for you guys. The next chapter is where this story starts to deviate more from cannon. I have most of it written, so hopefully it won't take me too long to post it. Okay, enough talk. Enjoy!

* * *

_And the shadow of the day_

_Will embrace the world in gray_

_And the sun will set for you_

– Shadow of the Day, Linkin Park

* * *

**Chapter 2: In the Gray**

Even though Elena knew Damon would hardly be in a talking mood, she nevertheless stormed up the stairs of her house, intent on making him listen to what she had to say. After he had fled the scene of his outburst, leaving Stefan and Elena speechless in her living room, she had had to take several minutes to gather her thoughts.

She knew that Damon was lashing out, angry about how the events of the last day had turned out—which was understandable; Elena herself could barely acknowledge her predicament, let alone accept it without breaking down—and was looking for a convenient target to blame. But she couldn't let him make Stefan the scapegoat for what was essentially _her_ choice. It wasn't fair. Not to any of them.

Elena was content to continue on that line of thought until Stefan suggested that she check on Damon while he made a phone call to Caroline.

Oh, she was going to talk to him, all right.

She was going to give him an earful. Instinctively she knew that was the only way to reach him, to snap him out of his volatile, self-indulgent state that had him blaming his brother for something that was beyond anyone's control.

Without quite knowing how she knew, Elena immediately went to her room and crossed the threshold, and there he was. Damon stood by her bureau, facing away from her and clutching one of her framed family photos. Even though she couldn't see it from her position, she recognized the picture by its simple wooden frame. In it, she and Jeremy's smiling faces filled the shot with a childlike innocence that had long since disappeared with the arrival of supernatural beings in Mystic Falls. Elena remembered that particular day so vividly because it was one of the happiest memories she had before her parents died and her world changed forever.

It was during their last family trip to the lake house, after Elena had finally managed to drag Jeremy away from his video games to help her make dinner. He had been extremely reluctant at first—boys will be boys, of course—but in the end, she had managed to get him to abandon his teenage loner tendencies for the night. In a rare moment of shared laughter, their mother had snapped a picture of them together.

Thinking about that particular moment of her life reminded Elena of how drastically different her life used to be. When she had parents, when vampires and witches and werewolves didn't exist, when she wasn't constantly afraid that each moment with a loved one could be her last, when she felt alive, safe, not always on the precipice of death...

When she was _human_.

Elena had had every intention of scolding Damon, but now, watching him scrutinize that picture, that memory, she felt the fight leave her. She briefly wondered if his musings were anything like her own. If he were mourning the loss of her humanity just as she was.

Though judging by the stiff set of his shoulders, he definitely wasn't over their fight downstairs. She knew the smart thing would be to wait and let the storm die down, but Elena was impatient for some sense of closure. It would probably be the closest she'd get to finding any semblance of peace all day.

"Damon?" she called tentatively, testing the waters, but it felt perfunctory. He had obviously heard her approaching long before now.

Elena couldn't help but notice that it was almost a mirror image of last night, when Stefan had tip-toed around her in the morgue, as if she were so fragile that anything above a soothing volume would have sent her shattering into a million pieces. Strange, now that she was on the other side of a similar exchange.

"If you've come here to extoll more virtues of my dear brother and his do-no-wrong lifestyle," Damon drawled, refusing to face her, "don't bother. I've heard that little speech a million times before, and let me tell you, it doesn't improve with repetition."

Elena was no stranger to Damon's cold attitude when he felt hurt and cornered; she more or less expected it. However, she couldn't help feeling slightly discouraged that he wouldn't even look at her. It stung more than she cared to admit.

Taking a cautious step towards him, she soldiered on with what she came to say.

"Please, Damon, don't blame Stefan for what happened. He did exactly what I asked him to do."

He returned the picture to her bureau, scoffing with derision. "Funny, he tried to sell me the same excuse. Your sales pitch is slightly more appealing, I'll admit, but I'm still not buying."

"Damon…" she tried again.

"No, Elena," he cut her off, whipping around, all traces of humor gone. "Stefan doesn't get a free pass, not this time. I mean, how many near misses does he have to make with your life for you to get it? Or have you already forgotten about the time _he_ was the one threatening to drive you off Wickery Bridge?" Whatever he saw in her expression only encouraged him to deliver one last blow. "Looks like he finally succeeded, if not quite the way he intended."

Elena reeled as if he'd slapped her, and Damon must have realized he'd gone too far because his eyes softened instantly and his shoulders relaxed, the anger ebbing away as he watched the hurt fill her eyes. He took several steps towards her, eyes locked with hers, and she could read the sincerity in them. He wished he could take those final words back.

And as much as they hurt, part of her was grateful that he finally gave up the façade of playing it cool, when she knew his emotions raged underneath the surface just as fierce and untamed as her own. They wouldn't get anywhere if he tried to hide them.

When she said nothing, Damon groaned in frustration. "I know, I know. Tactless, thy name is Damon. You've got enough on your plate without me piling on."

"No, it's…" Elena shook her head, trying to wrap her mind around the fact that she was actually about to defend what he just said. But it wouldn't help to deny the truth. "Look, I get why you're angry. I mean, you're not wrong. Stefan's done some… questionable things. But so have you," she quickly pointed out. "And so have _I_! But those things are in the past, Damon. We're beyond them."

"Are we? Because it seems to me like we're in the middle of his latest _questionable_ decision," he returned, gesturing up and down her transitioning body.

"Yes, we're past them," she insisted, brooking no room for argument. They would have to agree to disagree on that particular argument. Undeterred, she moved on to her next point, one that she knew would get a reaction from him. "Besides, we both know whose decision you're upset with, and it's not Stefan's. So if you want to be mad at someone, be mad at _me_."

It worked. "Okay, I'll bite." Damon's tone was stiff, the fire in him rekindling for Round Two. "It was a selfish decision, Elena. You're always so eager to offer yourself up as the sacrificial lamb that you forget the people you leave behind to mourn you."

"I could never forget them!" she protested. "That's why I told Stefan to save Matt first, so that he could have a life! I had already accepted—"

"Accepted what? That you'd _die_?" he supplied, disdain coating the last word. "When exactly did you have that epiphany, Elena? Because ever since I met you, you've been on a collision course with death every time things got too hard to handle. That's not being selfless. That's _giving up_."

Her mouth fell open. This was not the way this was supposed to go. "That's not fair. You say that like I wanted to die all those times, but I didn't! It was just the best option—"

"It was never an option!" he interjected.

"—for everyone I love, and that includes you, Damon!"

Elena hadn't realized she was nearly shouting until the silence that followed seemed to echo, the thick tension simmering between them as they both contemplated the significance of her words. Damon looked baffled, to say the least—but why? This wasn't the first time she had made it clear that she cared deeply for him. And yet… she had also made it clear that it wasn't enough. It wasn't enough to choose him.

_No use opening that box again_, Elena chastised herself. The two of them had enough to deal with right now. Since her final outburst, she had felt the prickling sensation of tears threatening to form, but she couldn't figure out at what point she had gotten so worked up. Damon in general just seemed to have that effect on her.

_My emotions are going crazy_, she remembered, trying to calm down. _Time to regain some control_.

Taking a deep breath, she reined in her temper until she felt centered once again. "Believe me, I get it," she said softly. "I know that you care about me."

The intensity of Damon's gaze could only be described as unsettling. But not in a bad way. "I do."

"And I care about you. And Stefan. And _Matt_," she said pointedly. "So I know you understand why I will always put the people I love first." Even though he would surely deny it if pressed, she could see that her argument was working. Which was why she couldn't resist offering him a sly smile, adding, "Can you honestly say you wouldn't have done the same for me?"

"I'm going to plead the fifth on that," he hedged, but the subtle upturn of his lips betrayed him.

"Because you know I'm right."

"You're not wrong," he admitted reluctantly, before he turned serious once again. "You will always choose those around you at your own expense." He came forward until they were barely a foot apart. His eyes bored into hers; she couldn't look away. "But know this: I will always choose _you_, Elena. Even if that means letting a whole parade of quarterbacks die in your place. I wouldn't think twice about it. I will always choose you," he repeated, and Elena nearly gulped at his confession. "As much as I hate that I upset you, that's one thing I will never apologize for."

Something tugged at her memory, some fleeting sense of déjà vu, but she shoved it aside. Damon's honest declaration left her speechless. She had known for a while how deeply he felt for her… but having him confirm it out loud? The day after she chose his _brother_? Now _that_ she definitely wasn't expecting, and couldn't help the involuntary shiver that ran down her spine.

How was it that he always had the power to unnerve her?

Damon was still staring at her, willing her to respond, but what in the world could she say to something like _that_? The last thing she wanted to do was break his heart all over again.

"Guess we're both a little selfish," she joked weakly, eager to break the tension.

His mouth curved in grudging amusement, but the storm still raged behind his piercing blue eyes.

Still uncertain, she latched on to the first thought that came to her. "You know, in a weird way, despite our… disagreement," she began, "it's nice to be reminded that certain things never change. Especially when some things will never be the same," she lamented, her gaze falling to the framed photograph behind him.

It wasn't exactly the best topic change she could have come up with. She couldn't go down this road again, not now. The wound was much too fresh. If she opened those floodgates and started mourning her humanity, she might never stop until her emotions spiraled out of control.

Tearing her eyes away from the picture of Jeremy and human-Elena, she automatically shoved the memory into that little box in her mind that might as well have been labeled 'Things Not to Think About Unless You Want to Break Down Sobbing.' The title needed work, admittedly, but it was her coping mechanism. She didn't know how else to get through the day, let alone eternity, if she ruminated on every little detail of her tragic life.

Elena quickly plastered a smile on her face. She knew it wouldn't fool anyone, least of all Damon, but in an uncharacteristic bout of sympathy, he didn't call her on it. She decided to push her luck.

"Care to make it up to me?" she asked brightly, referencing his earlier pseudo-apology. "Forgive Stefan. He's going to blame himself for what I'm going through and he'll need his big brother on his side."

"He could do with a little self-loathing," he muttered bitterly. Elena knew there was no point in defending Stefan again; she and Damon had clearly reached an impasse on that particular topic. "Then again…" he trailed off, eyes glittering with barely concealed delight, and Elena instinctively knew that they were moving past the heavy portion of their conversation. Thank goodness for that.

"Alright, fine," he finally conceded. "Since you asked, I'll… temper myself." He gave an indifferent shrug. "Broody Stefan isn't nearly as much fun anyway."

Elena shook her head in amused disbelief. Leave it to Damon to find some way of spinning her request into a task of his own choosing, all without conceding one ounce of his pride. She couldn't help but be a little impressed.

That is, until he finished with—

"I can take my antagonism down as low as eighty-five percent."

Elena narrowed her eyes at him. Honestly, what had she expected? He was _Damon_, after all. She should have known he wouldn't relent, not even for her.

At her reaction, he crossed his arms over his chest and sighed in mock-resignation. "You drive a hard bargain, Gilbert. Alright, sixty percent, but that's my final offer."

Elena rolled her eyes, but couldn't stop the small chuckle that escaped her, the tension of their earlier exchange all but forgotten. "Deal."

It was better than she could have hoped for. She and Damon had made some kind of peace, however tenuous it was, and she had hopefully set the brothers on a path towards mending their damaged relationship.

And as much as Damon had upset her, their exchange had given her the perfect outlet for all the emotions she was desperately trying to keep bottled up. But releasing them hadn't felt out of control; it felt cathartic.

"Thank you, Damon." For the first time since she woke up in the morgue, she let a genuine smile cross her face. She felt transformed from the simple act. "For everything."

Elena knew they had so much more to talk about. But for now, she would accept their truce for what it what—a victory. And with the day she was having, every victory, no matter how small, was a gift. It was one more reason to keep on living.

* * *

Without bothering to knock, Jeremy strolled through the front door of the Bennett house, immediately spotting Bonnie in the living room ahead. She was sitting on the floor, eyes closed, with her Grimoire perched on her lap. Dozens upon dozens of lit candles surrounded her and provided the only source of light in the house, leaving a soft glow on her face, which was scrunched together in concentration. Her lips formed words soundlessly.

Good thing her father wasn't home, because if he was… Well, he'd surely have a few choice words for his daughter about her not-so-normal extracurricular activities.

"I got your message," Jeremy announced by way of greeting. "Why did you want to meet here? Don't we need to be in the old house where all those witches died in order for you to channel their power?"

"Change of plans," was the only answer Bonnie gave, her thoughts obviously still engrossed with whatever spell she was weaving.

"So there's still a plan?"

She simply nodded.

Jeremy could understand her need to focus, but still—

Was it him, or was she being deliberately evasive?

"You _did_ convince the spirits to help keep Elena human, didn't you?" Jeremy asked uncertainly. "Isn't that why you called me over?"

Sighing, Bonnie reluctantly opened her eyes as she turned to face him, poorly concealed guilt evident on her face. "Not exactly."

He frowned at her admission. "Well, you at least asked them… right?"

"Jeremy…" she hesitated. "It's not that simple. Witches, they… they hold grudges. They're still angry that I had them bring _you_ back to life, and they're hardly about to help me upset the balance again."

His gut twisted; apparently it was his turn to feel guilty. Bonnie had already done more than her fair share of helping him, at great personal cost… could he really ask her for more?

"But one less vampire in the world—isn't that something they'd be interested in?" he argued.

"Honestly, I think they're more interested in punishing me," she answered glumly. "As much as they hate vampires, whose very existence goes against the laws of nature, the spirits don't want to add to their list of mistakes. Saving Elena…" she paused briefly, "it would require dark magic, Jeremy. They aren't exactly pleased that I've already dabbled in that area—"

"To stop Klaus!" he leapt to her defense. "Shouldn't they be grateful that your desiccation spell helped Alaric kill him for good?"

Jeremy was surprised to see Bonnie flinch a little at that. Then again, he couldn't blame her; there had been a moment, an hour really, when they had both believed a handful of their friends were about to drop dead (and one that actually _did_) because of one staked Original who they thought created their bloodline. Surely she wasn't feeling _guilty_ for making Klaus vulnerable, for her supposed part in making their _friends_ vulnerable by extension?

"Even still, they're not going to help me," Bonnie reiterated. "They've made it very clear that they think I'm a loose cannon, a rogue witch—that I abuse my powers whenever it's convenient, no matter the consequences." Her eyelids fell shut as she exhaled. "They're right, Jeremy."

Then her eyes flew open. "But I don't regret my choices," she went on with determination, "not if they help my friends. I view every scenario with an open mind, weigh the consequences of all possibilities, and make the best decision _for me_. Most witches aren't like that, though; they view the world in black and white, in strict absolutes, a fixed right and wrong, always. Objectivity is what helps maintain the balance," she explained. "We're all servants of nature, but I can't seem to let myself set aside my personal feelings like they can. I'm constantly torn between my duties as a witch and my loyalties as a friend. They know this. They know that, in the end, I will always put my family first. They see this as a betrayal of my kind, so…"

She let the thought trail off, her words hanging thickly between them. They certainly gave them both food for thought.

It wasn't until Bonnie said all that stuff out loud that Jeremy truly realized how much she had sacrificed for all of their friends. She had practically cut off all ties to her magical ancestors for the sake of protecting the people she cared about. Did she ever regret it? Did she ever resent it, being at their beck and call? The magical clean-up crew that fixes all of their messes when they come begging for help? She was meant to maintain the balance, serve nature; but here she was, serving _them_ instead, their agenda, going against everything witches stood for. It's a wonder she didn't tell them all to go to hell.

She wouldn't, though. Bonnie wasn't that kind of girl. She may be a witch fueled with an inherent aversion to vampires, but she was a true friend first and foremost. She was kind, dependable, fiercely loyal, incredibly brave… Jeremy sometimes thought she was the best of all of them, Elena included, if he were being completely honest. Bonnie knew who she was and what she believed, and even more impressive, she stuck to those values no matter what. Even if she had to be the one to pay the price.

Seeing Bonnie so focused, so determined in spite of her self-doubt, was inspiring. Jeremy had never been more in awe of her than at this moment—which, when he thought about it, was saying a lot, considering she had done some pretty badass stuff ever since the supernatural had first reared its ugly head in Mystic Falls. Since that day, she had come so far controlling her abilities, although not without some bumps along the way. He still vividly recalled the absolute terror and helplessness he once felt at seeing her small body collapse, nose bleeding profusely, after she had used her magic to excess and drained her energy. He never knew someone with so much power could be so inherently vulnerable.

She sure didn't look vulnerable now.

Bonnie lifted her chin. "I act independently now. In fact, that's why I chose to meet here. Neutral ground. Less chance of being overheard," she offered, automatically lowering her voice. "The spirits won't exactly approve of my plan."

Jeremy mulled that over for a minute. "If they won't help, then how are we going to save Elena?"

"I've come up with an alternative," she told him, which would have relieved him if she didn't suddenly look as uneasy as when their conversation first began. His doubts peaked when she added, "Just… try to keep an open mind, okay?"

Skeptical but curious, Jeremy nodded, urging her to continue.

Bonnie bit her lip, glancing sideways. "Right now, Elena's in transition. Not fully alive, but not fully dead either," she explained slowly, "which should mean her spirit is straddling both realms: the living and the dead. To keep Elena alive… we need to remove her foothold in the other plane."

Jeremy felt his stomach drop. Whatever she was about to say, he instinctively knew he wasn't going to like it. The look she was giving him… She only acted this guilty whenever she was putting her own life in danger. She always anticipated his objection.

Still, he had to ask, "Bonnie, what exactly are you saying?"

Her eyes found his, brown on green, as she finally stood up and made her way over to him. In that moment, she radiated confidence; no traces of her former unease.

Maybe he was wrong. Maybe her plan wouldn't be as risky as the horrible scenarios running through his mind. Maybe she could do this.

He felt relief—

"I'm going to send myself to the Other Side, and bring Elena's spirit back with me."

—And then horror wash over him.

Shocked, Jeremy's response was all over the place: disbelief that this crazy idea was, in fact, her plan all along; confusion at how in the world this was even a possibility; and fear, definitely that—concern for Bonnie's safety was a given. Oddly enough, though, the reaction that ultimately won out happened to be the one of least concern.

_Oh man_, Jeremy winced inwardly. _Damon's gonna have a field day with this one._

* * *

"Now that we got all the warm fuzzies out of the way, and you're no longer in imminent danger—a difficult feat, I might add," Damon quipped, earning him a small scowl from the girl opposite him, "there's something I need to do," he finished seriously.

"Are you going to talk to Stefan?" Elena asked, smiling hopefully at him.

Geez, this girl. Might as well put his sanity through the shredder because the allure she had for him was just plain _unfair_. One little smile from her and he's about ready to rip off his arm, vamp run downstairs, and offer it to his brother as a peace offering. Not that that made any kind of sense, but whatever.

Point is, this girl wasn't even _his_, but already he felt whipped. And not the horribly needy kind he once felt with Katherine, where he would have done anything for her approval and whatever twisted version of love she professed.

No, with Elena it was like…

Well. He was still pathetic—even Damon had to admit the hold she had on him was capable of making him the biggest fool alive—but he was _not_ needy. He would never be that way again. And he wasn't blind either. He saw who the girl in front of him truly was, he knew that she was not Katherine, that she could never in a million years be that corrupted version of her ancestor.

With Katherine, he had lost himself. But Elena, well… she brought out that side of him that he thought had been destroyed a long time ago. A side that he hadn't known since he was human. He knew he could never actually be that person again—he was a _vampire_, after all—but Elena had a way of making him want to try. Somehow, she made all the difference.

Damon shook the traitorous thoughts from his head. Okay, seriously, what was it about this girl that had him waxing poetic in a manner that would make even Vampire Barbie proud?

All together now: Pa-the-tic.

But _not_ whipped. He may be tempted to give in to her every desire, yeah, but that sure as hell didn't mean that he'd simply roll over and become her doormat. As previously established, his time as a doppelganger's bitch has been and gone.

No matter how beautiful her smile was.

Shut _up_.

"The Salvatore ceasefire negotiations will have to wait," Damon told her not without reluctance. "What I need to do now is a bit more urgent."

Puzzled, Elena tilted her head, her full doe eyes wide and yet soft as she considered him. With her right hand, she reached across her face and tucked a stray lock of hair behind her left ear—a gesture she probably didn't even realize she did frequently, but one that Damon had long since recognized as classic Elena code for 'I'm Overthinking Something' or the passive-aggressive 'I'm Mad at You' or the much more likely 'I'm Plotting Something You Won't Approve Of.'

_Probably a way to change my mind_, he thought.

But she always did have a way of surprising him.

"Okay," she accepted without argument. Weird. "Well, where are you going?"

"A storage facility about a hundred miles out." Damon watched, gratified, as it was her turn to be surprised. "I'm not about to let my friend's body rot with only Original Recipe Klaus for company," he offered by way of explanation. "I'm going to bring Ric home."

* * *

"For the third time, Stefan, _yes_. I'm safe." Even without vampire hearing, Stefan would have easily been able to hear the exasperated sigh from the receiving end of his phone.

The sigh came from none other than Caroline Forbes, but given the sad, hollow tone darkening her voice, she was hardly recognizable. This girl was a far cry from the bubbly optimist who had become one of Stefan's closest companions.

The sudden change was alarming, until she added solemnly, "Alone and heartbroken, but safe."

And then Stefan remembered. How could he have possibly forgotten, even for an instant? Here he was, wallowing in his own guilt and sorrow when Caroline deserved to grieve far more than anyone else. After all, she had suffered the greatest loss last night. Because even though Stefan's own love had died, at least Elena wasn't gone forever. Caroline wasn't so fortunate.

Stefan paused in the act of pacing through the Gilberts' living room, contemplating how he could possibly comfort his friend, but all that came out was the standard 'I'm sorry about Tyler' sentiment, which, as they all knew, was about as helpful as wolfsbane was to a werewolf. The words felt so useless and couldn't convey an ounce of the empathy he felt, but it was all he could offer her. Stefan had seen many, many people die throughout his immortal existence, and it was always the same, an endless cycle: people die, and those left behind to grieve for them in whatever way helped them cope. As Caroline's friend, he would always be there for her, but in the end, she would have to bear the terrible burden of Tyler's absence alone.

Stefan heard her take a shaky breath before answering. "We were supposed to be halfway to Florida by now, but I didn't make it more than a couple miles outside Mystic Falls before I turned around." She paused briefly, and it sounded like she was trying to regain her composure. "I mean, I don't… I don't know what I'm supposed to do now, Stefan."

Before she had a chance to break down completely, Stefan quickly diverted the subject to something—anything—else. Not that it was any less disheartening. "Well, I'd ask you to join us at Elena's house if you weren't on the Council's hit list."

"I'm pretty sure we're all simmering in that pot of hot water," she remarked grimly, thankfully taking the bait.

They were both silent for a beat as they considered her words. It was only a couple nights ago that Alaric had risen reborn as Esther's all-but-invincible creation, hell-bent on eradicating every last vampire on earth. And in addition to hunting down the Original siblings and ending their bloodlines, he had taken a slight detour by revealing the names of every vampire in Mystic Falls to the town Council—a rather unnecessary act if Alaric had simply completed his mission.

But Alaric had died while Elena drowned beneath Wickery Bridge, and the rest of them still had to contend with the fallout of his betrayal: the targets painted on their hearts, and angry Council members gunning to fix them in their crosshairs and finish what Alaric started.

"How is she doing, Stefan?" Caroline inquired suddenly, her soft tone catching Stefan off guard. He didn't have to ask who she was talking about.

"Elena's about as good as can be expected." He paused; Caroline deserved more than a vague answer. "She hasn't completed the transition yet, but she can't delay for much longer. I think we're all still in denial," he confessed.

"Tell me about it. I can't go back home, and I can't just abandon everyone in town, so I'm stuck here in limbo."

"Speaking of which, where is _here_, exactly?"

"I told you, somewhere safe. The less you know, the better," she said, her tone subtly teasing. Stefan could practically hear her smile and it relieved him immensely. Perhaps distraction was the key, after all. Caroline had always gone above and beyond the call of duty as his "sober sponsor," as she called herself, distracting him from his addiction to human blood whenever the allure proved too much for him to handle on his own. Perhaps now he could return the favor as she went through her own dark period.

"You really think a Council member can torture your location out of me?" Stefan joked back, although deep down he knew that they posed a threat much more serious than his tone implied. "Have you talked to your mom since you left?"

"Once," she told him. "The Council interrogated her to find out where I'm hiding. Tyler's mom, too. And they locked both of them out of their offices after Alaric spilled the beans, so she has no idea what they're planning next. But," she added gravely, "she _did_ figure out what they were up to last night."

"What do you mean? Weren't they the ones that helped Alaric track down Klaus' body?"

"Stefan, it's the Mystic Falls town Council." The _duh_ that followed her pronouncement was implicit. "You're talking about a group that's planned a charity fundraiser every month since God-knows-when, while simultaneously leading an undercover anti-vampire campaign. I think it's safe to say they're accomplished multi-taskers." She sighed again. "My mom said they raided your house last night, which means they know about you and Damon, too. Obviously, they didn't find either one of you, but they _did_ find your hidden stash of vervain."

Stefan let his eyes drift closed and clutched his phone harder against his ear. He knew that he should feel relieved that he and his brother had remained unscathed, but the Council's interference definitely raised a new problem.

"Combined with Alaric's weapons supply, that gives them plenty of ammunition to come after all of us."

"Yeah, well…" she drifted off, her deflated tone matching his. "I won't be surprised if that's their next move, but they've already put your vervain to good use. A word to the wise: don't use the tap water; it's chock-full of the stuff."

Now _that_ part caught him off guard. Taking a moment to digest that piece of news, he switched his phone to his other ear. "There's vervain in the town water supply?"

"Yep," she confirmed, popping the 'p' in frustration. "Found that out the hard way when I tried to rinse my face with Mrs. Gunderson's garden hose. Tears and makeup don't exactly make for a great combination, you know," she tried to joke, but it came out strained. Clearing her throat, she went on, "_Not_ a good way to start the day, in case you're wondering."

Still reeling from this new complication, Stefan sank down onto Elena's living room couch, resting his forearms on his knees. "Sounds like they're trying to turn Mystic Falls into a compulsion-free zone. I hate to admit it, but that's a pretty smart way to protect everybody. Not to mention they're probably hoping we'll leave town altogether without a proper, ah… food supply."

"Maybe so," she agreed, but Stefan sensed her hesitation. "But wouldn't they rather kill us than send us away? And if that's true, I don't think they would have done something that drastic. I mean, if they're trying to pick us off one by one, wouldn't they want to be more… I don't know, stealthy?"

As always, her perceptiveness never failed to amaze him. Caroline was right: Even with their abundant resources and inside knowledge, the Council wouldn't strike unless they were assured of their victory, as they had been last night with Alaric leading them into battle.

But Alaric was gone. So why were they still so persistent?

"Unless…" Stefan trailed off, contemplating.

"Unless…?" she prompted.

Stefan sighed. "Unless they're getting desperate. Think about it. They don't trust the Mayor or the Sheriff, two people they elected to protect this town, and the one person that united them into a vampire-hunting mob and gave them any sense of control was just _killed_ by the very people he was hunting. Their confidence is shaken, they're stuck without a leader to guide them, and they're scared."

"You think this whole vervain fiasco is just some kind of preemptive strike against us? That they're scared that _we're_ going to go after _them_ because we know that _they_ know we're vampires?"

Stefan was surprised he actually followed that train of thought. "I'd say that about sums it up," he agreed. "I mean, fear is a powerful motivator. It can make people do some desperate things in the interest of self-preservation. And from the looks of it, the Council wants to declare war on the vampires in this town," he said, not without a trace of apprehension. "Even though Alaric's gone, they're not done with us yet."

It was an ominous thought, and a thick silence fell between them as they considered the perils ahead if they weren't careful.

Caroline groaned with sudden frustration. "If Alaric had just kept his big mouth shut, we wouldn't be in this mess!"

Stefan couldn't stop his thoughts from drifting to Elena, and even Tyler, as he somberly replied, "A lot of things happened last night that weren't supposed to."

As if on cue, Stefan heard two pairs of footsteps begin to descend the stairs.

Elena and Damon were back.

When Stefan glanced up from his position on the couch, Damon briefly caught his eye before heading out the front door without a word. But the action didn't feel like a snub, and Stefan instinctively knew that whatever Elena had said to him upstairs must have worked at least a little in his favor, not that he deserved it. But he'd take what he could get.

As if reading his thoughts, Elena confirmed his suspicions by mouthing '_He's okay_,' earning her a smile from him in thanks. She then followed with '_Who's that?'_ while gesturing to the phone pressed against his ear.

Addressing both girls at once, he spoke aloud. "Listen, Caroline," he watched Elena light up with recognition and relief, "thanks for the tip, but I've got to go."

He paused, his parting words colored with sincerity he wished he could deliver in person. "Take care of yourself."

Her goodbye was just as warm. "You too, Stefan. I'll see you soon. And tell Elena to hang in there," she added. "She's not in this alone. Us vamps have to stick together."

* * *

"You're going to _what_?" Jeremy exploded.

When Bonnie had originally called to let him know she had a plan, Jeremy had thought that it was a solid one. One that had a more or less guaranteed chance at success. One that wouldn't involve sacrificing one life to save another. Was that too much to ask for?

Apparently, in the backwards, supernatural-infested, death-plagued town of Mystic Falls, yes; it was entirely too much to ask for. Bonnie's plan wasn't just dangerous. It was crazy.

It was suicide.

"You heard what I said." Compared with the harshness of his outburst, her reply almost sounded serene. Resigned.

"Bonnie," he said with forced calm. "You can't just go to the Other Side at will, you'd have to be…"

Jeremy stopped short, comprehension finally dawning. His eyes widened in horror as he silently begged her to deny what he suspected; his heart sank when she bit her lip, holding back her unspoken apology. But underneath her guilt, Jeremy glimpsed something else. Something strong.

Resolve.

"I'd have to be dead."

It was chilling, how matter-of-factly she said that. How casually she stated she was basically going to let herself die with no guarantee of waking up again.

Jeremy knew from experience that once Bonnie was determined to do something, there was no changing her mind.

But that didn't mean he wouldn't try.

"No," he implored. "Bonnie, no!"

"My powers are stronger now, Jeremy," she tried to reason with him. "I can stop my heart the same way I did yours. Witches have free reign on the Other Side, so if I can just reach Elena before I exhaust myself—"

"And if you can't?" he interrupted. "What if you're gone too long and you don't wake up _at all_?" He ran a hand through his hair in frustration. Taking a step closer to her, he lowered his voice so that she'd have to listen carefully. "My sister already died, Bonnie. I'm not losing you, too. And I know Elena would never want you to risk your life for hers."

Jeremy could see that mentioning Elena had the desired effect. Remorse briefly flickered across Bonnie's features before she forced it back again.

"Do you trust me?" she asked abruptly.

His eyebrows narrowed. "What kind of question is that? Of course, I—"

"Then you have nothing to worry about," she smiled, an out-of-place gesture if there ever was one. "I can't explain it, Jeremy. My magic—it's the best it's ever been, and I can just _feel_ it. Trust me. I can do this."

Jeremy wanted to believe her, he really did. It was plain to see that she wasn't fragile little Bonnie Bennett anymore—in truth, he didn't think she was ever that girl—and that the woman standing before him was just beginning to realize her full potential, magic or no. It should have been more than enough to assuage his fears.

And yet, in spite of his high opinion of her, he couldn't help but be skeptical. When it came to saving the people she loved, Bonnie always took too much risk with her own life. Someone had to rein her in before she went too far. This whacked out plan… he just couldn't let her do it. He couldn't lose anyone else.

"Bonnie…"

But she didn't give him the chance to continue, as her next argument pretty much rendered his own completely moot.

"Do you want Elena back or not?"

Short, simple, and to the point.

Did Jeremy want his sister back? Of course. He couldn't think of ever wanting anything this badly. Elena was the only family he had left. He loved her. He refused to even _think_ about the possibility of not having her in his life, exactly the way she was.

Sure, Elena had had her fair share of decisions that seriously made him question her judgment: falling in love with vampires, trusting too easily, putting her life in unnecessary danger; even going so far as to take away Jeremy's choices and memories when she thought she knew best. But in spite of all these mistakes, Jeremy still looked up to his big sister.

She was the one who made him his favorite snack every day after school when they were kids. The one who started the tradition of the Gilbert Water Balloon Melee every summer at their family lake house. The one who took up the reins when their parents died, shouldering more responsibility than anyone their age should have to, while he hid in isolation and gave himself over to drugs. She looked out for him—sometimes, arguably, a little too much—and kept him from falling over the edge when life was spinning out of control. She was one of the few things that made life in this god-forsaken town worth living.

Being a vampire would change that. It would change _her_. Forever.

And despite the reassurance he had given his sister before, Jeremy would gladly suffer Elena's overprotective tendencies for the rest of his life if he could just prevent that one truth from becoming reality.

But what about Bonnie? Could he let her risk her life for the sake of keeping his sister's humanity intact? Hadn't he already told Bonnie that Elena wouldn't want her best friend jeopardizing her life for hers? Taking those words back now in a moment of weakness would just make him a hypocrite.

He didn't care.

Bonnie said she could do this. The question now was, could Jeremy accept the consequences, whatever they may be, for believing her?

_Do you trust me?_

Not without hesitation, Jeremy nodded.

* * *

Elena anxiously paced in her kitchen, practically wearing a path into the tiled floor as she absorbed every word she had just heard. She had already recounted the details of her exchange with Damon to Stefan, finishing by explaining the errand he was currently on to retrieve Alaric's body. Afterwards, Stefan had wasted no time filling her in on the surprising bit of information Caroline shared with him. As if they needed another complication today, here's one more to add to the mix.

"Do you really think the Council will come after us?"

Leaning against the counter, Stefan gave a noncommittal jerk of his head. "They're already after Caroline. I'm sure they're not taking Damon's duplicity lightly either. And," he added, jaw clenching, "I haven't exactly made living in this town easy as of late."

"And me?" She stopped pacing as she spun around to face him, for once worried about her own safety. "When they find out that I'm—"

"They won't. Hey," he assured her, placing his hands on her shoulders. Their eyes locked. "They're still in the dark about your transition. And we'll keep it that way."

Elena nodded, taking comfort in his words. Whether they proved true or not, only time would tell, but she needed to believe them all the same. Maybe they wouldn't find out about her; maybe they would. Oh, who was she kidding? Her luck, if she ever had any to begin with, ran dry the day she started associating with vampires.

And now she was on her way towards becoming one.

Elena turned around and stepped out of Stefan's hold, raking her fingers through her hair. It was all she could do not to start pacing again.

"God, this is such a mess," she whispered, but knew Stefan heard her anyway. She faced him again. "Our friends are scattered. The Council is out for our blood. Bonnie's looking for some vampire miracle cure that might not even exist." She ticked each point off on her fingers, each more daunting than the last. "And Damon's bringing home yet another dead friend for us to bury."

They were both quiet for a moment, letting it all sink in, until Stefan broke the silence.

"Thank you for what you said to him, by the way. Damon," he clarified. "Whatever it was, I think it helped. He might just forgive me this century."

A smile blossomed on Elena's face, recalling the conversation she had had with him. Despite whatever Damon may say about his brother, there was a bond there that no amount of time or anger could break. There was over a century-and-a-half's worth of evidence backing her claim. Even now, Elena was still in awe of how deep their devotion went, though it had been tested many, many times in the most brutal of ways. So many motives and opportunities to end each other… and yet neither one of them could do it. There was too much love between them, plain and simple.

Elena studied Stefan's expression and wondered: Did he even know? She was all but certain Damon had never said it in so many words.

So she told him. "He loves you, you know. He was just angry, and for some reason it's much easier for him to take it out on you than on me."

"Old habits die hard, I guess." Stefan attempted a smile, but he couldn't mask the pain lying just underneath the surface. The bruises on his face may have faded thanks to supernaturally fast healing, but the fallout of their fight still left its own lingering scar. He was still hurting.

"Stefan, you could have stopped Damon from hitting you," Elena pointed out. It probably wasn't the most important topic to take issue with, but it still bothered her. "Why didn't you?"

He shrugged. "He had a point, you know."

"Stefan…" she began, closing the distance between them once more. "What I asked you to do, saving Matt instead of me… it was too much to ask of anyone. I hate that I put you in that position, and that now you're blaming yourself because of me."

"Because I could have saved you." Regret swam deeply in his green eyes. It tore at her heart. "Because you shouldn't be going through this, Elena. You shouldn't be a vampire."

"If you had saved me first, then Matt would be dead. What do you think I'd be going through, then?"

"You would have been miserable," he allowed, but Elena could tell he wasn't entirely alleviated.

Still, it was progress. A push in the right direction.

Encouraged, Elena went on, "You respected my choice, Stefan. That's all I ever wanted."

"If Bonnie doesn't find a way to stop the transition, then you'll have another choice to make: Feed and complete the transition, or let yourself die."

"Well, we'll cross that bridge when we come to it." Elena froze, her mind catching up to her mouth just a beat too late. "Oh my God. Did I just—did I say '_cross that bridge'_?"

There was a second of silence as they both considered the irony, and then, without warning, Elena burst into uncontrollable laughter.

It was already too late to pretend she hadn't said it. She could either laugh it off, or she could break down because of the truth underlying the humor. But Elena wasn't ready for that yet. Shelve the reality for now, hide it away in that box in her mind, and deal with it later. Much later. So she just kept laughing, no matter how horrible it really was.

And it _was_ horrible, really. It was tragic. She had just gone through one of the worst traumas of her life—drowning, for the second time, and actually _dying _this time—but all she could focus on was the hilarity behind the way her subconscious worked. Why it picked those words. Why she couldn't get past them.

And honestly, what messed up higher power decided that _bad bridge karma_ of all things was the way to tear her down? Why not something semi-normal like a good old fashioned accident? Or alcohol poisoning? It wasn't exactly a stretch, given how Mystic Falls practically served up beer and cocktails to minors like candy. But running off bridges and _drowning_? It was the most absurd thing she'd ever heard of.

"You're laughing," Stefan observed, obviously concerned for the unstable girl in front of him. "I'm pretty sure you don't actually think that's funny."

It was all she could do to get out a sentence. "But—but I can't—stop—laughing!"

It was true. She could hardly draw breath from the effort. It was strange, though, because Stefan was right: it really wasn't all that humorous. Logically, her Freudian slip was just a poorly executed albeit well-timed pun. A boring cliché no one in their right mind would have given a second thought, let alone have a laughing fit over it.

Which just proved that Elena was seriously close to losing it.

"It's the transition," Stefan gently reminded her. "Your emotions are a bit heightened today. Okay, a _lot_ heightened," he amended as her laughter suddenly doubled in volume. If he was alarmed by her hysterics, he hid it well. Thank goodness for that.

Stefan waited patiently as she let it all out of her system. As the need for air became almost impossible to ignore, her guffaws gradually subsided, leaving only the grim reality behind. There was only so long she could keep up the charade, after all.

_Commit_, Elena repeated to herself, _commit to this absurd idea that anything about this situation was remotely funny, that none of it was real… _She didn't want to face the alternative. Because when the laughter stopped, what was she really left with?

And that's when it hit her. Acknowledging her denial was all it took.

Something broke inside of her. The little box that she desperately kept locked—the mental blockade against all the pain, horror, and despair that had been threatening to consume her—it flew open.

_Oh no. Oh no oh no oh no._

It was too much, all these feelings. Images—possibilities of the future that awaited her—flooded her mind with all the sensitivity of a slap: of Stefan, watching her become the very thing he hated most about himself; of Damon, loving her yet never truly able to _be_ with her, or his brother by extension, for all eternity; of her parents, Jenna, Alaric, and the rest of her loved ones she wouldn't get to see in death because she remain immortal; of Bonnie, Jeremy, and Matt growing old while she forever remained eighteen; of never having a real family, never having children; of fighting the bloodlust every minute of every day. She'd seen Stefan go through that pain, an endless cycle of fighting his nature and losing himself. Oh God. Would Elena be that way, too?

Not if she didn't complete the transition. There was still that unspoken option. But it wouldn't have to come to that if Bonnie somehow found a way…

And if she didn't? Could Elena willingly choose to become a monster?

It wasn't until she noticed the wetness in her eyes that she realized at some point, her laughter had transformed into sobs. She gave into them; they had been a long time coming. She was done fighting it.

"I can't do this," she cried. "I can't be a vampire, Stefan."

It was the most honest thing she could have said. She wasn't meant to be a vampire. Vampires were predators, preying on the weak, taking what they want without mercy or remorse. Over a year of experience should have told her otherwise, that not all vampires were the same, but she wasn't naïve. They were all filled with a terrible darkness. Some were just better at hiding it than others.

And Elena had already seen more darkness in her short life than she thought possible. How could she escape the nightmare this time when _she_ was the monster starring in it?

She was terrified of losing herself, especially since she had already lost so much. The names and faces of the dead played on a constant loop in her mind, forever a reminder of those that were taken from her much too soon. Her compassion, her hopes and dreams, her _humanity_—those had been all she had had left. They were the constants that sustained her in a world full of unpredictability and tragedy. Now they were gone, too.

Now, Elena had no clue who or even _what_ she was. She was just a girl torn in two, stuck in the middle, sandwiched between extremes: between right and wrong, sanity and insanity, living and dying, human and vampire. There was no set path for her, no way to tell which direction was up. The vertigo overtook her, and suddenly she felt like she was drowning all over again.

Elena was trapped beneath the bridge once more, gasping for air, struggling to escape, never quite reaching the other side, no matter how much she wanted to cross over—

Next thing she knew, she found herself wrapped in pair of strong arms. Warmth flooded her.

"One way or another, we'll get through this," Stefan promised. "I'll help you."

Thank goodness for Stefan. If there was ever a silver lining for becoming a vampire, it was that she could spend an eternity with the man she loved. She had already chosen him. He just didn't know it. Yet.

"Stefan, listen," she began, still hiccupping from her breakdown. "About why I was on that bridge—"

But she never got to finish, as the sound of someone knocking on her front door cut her off. It sounded impatient.

Elena and Stefan shared a look of confusion.

"Bonnie?" he guessed, hopeful.

Elena shook her head, making her way towards the door. Bonnie had treated the Gilbert house as her second home ever since they were kids. She wouldn't bother knocking.

Without thinking twice about it, Elena turned the knob and flung the door open. She immediately regretted it.

On the other side of the doorframe stood the absolute last person Elena wanted to see.

"Well, well," the newcomer drawled, smirking wide enough to show teeth. "You look awfully good for a dead girl."

_Rebekah_.

* * *

**A/N**: Yes, I know. The Stefan/Elena scene at the end is very similar to the show version. And bits of the Bonnie/Jeremy scenes. Let's just say that I like how the show did it, I was running low on creative juice, and leave it at that ;) Next chapter will of course see the return of Rebekah, but what is she up to? Hmm... And we'll be seeing more Caroline for sure. Our favorite blonde vampires back in action!

As always, if you have any comments or (constructive) criticism, I'd love to hear your thoughts. I'm new at this, so I'm always looking for ways to improve. Until next time, folks!


	4. Grounded

**Disclaimer**: Anything you recognize doesn't belong to me.

**A/N: **My apologies for the long delay with this chapter. My life has taken a bit of a detour as of late—first, I was laid off unexpectedly, then I packed up my life in three days and spent the next three driving across the country to apply for a new job from home. It's been a stressful month, but I've found a new rhythm and things are starting to look up.

I'll be the first to admit that this chapter doesn't quite meet my normal standards, but I hope it isn't too bad. Enjoy!

* * *

_And the love for what you hide  
The bitterness inside  
Is growing like the new born  
When you've seen, seen  
Too much, too young, young  
Soulless is everywhere_

- New Born, Muse

* * *

**Chapter 3: Grounded**

Caroline was alone. Completely, utterly alone.

The last person she had seen was the one person she was desperately trying to push from her mind. This feeling of loss, helplessness, hopelessness… it threatened to destroy her from the inside out.

For hours she had been wandering aimlessly through the woods of Mystic Falls, numb, like a zombie, trying to lose herself in the wilderness. She couldn't keep thinking about _him_ anymore. She just couldn't. So she had tried hiding somewhere where the surroundings were endless and chaotic, hoping they would drown out the storm raging in her mind.

It wasn't working.

Caroline knew it wasn't safe, being alone anywhere in her hometown today of all days. Not with the target painted on her back and the Council hot on her heels. It's just that she simply had nowhere else to go.

After all, where did you go when you felt like your whole world had just ended? Caroline wasn't even trying to be dramatic; that's how it felt, actually, like time itself had stopped and she could see no future for herself beyond that horrible moment when she had lost the person she loved most in this world. _He_ was her world.

_He _was_ her world_, she emphasized bitterly. _Past tense._

It wasn't supposed to be this way. They were supposed to go to Florida, and from there, who knew? Maybe they would have traveled the world together. They could have gone to California, New York, China, anywhere… The world was full of possibilities, and they could have taken their time discovering every single one of them, together, because they had all the time in the world. They were immortal. They literally had _forever_.

Caroline laughed bitterly. Forever sure hadn't lasted long.

It had taken her at least a full ten minutes of denial, of '_he's not dead, he's not dead' _running on a constant loop in her mind, before she could finally bring herself to dial Elena's number to deliver the tragic news. She could barely get the words out, at first. When she finally did, she felt like a robot reciting a grocery list. She could hear the words pouring out of her mouth, but not for one instant did her brain comprehend them or accept them as true.

And hadn't some psychologist figured out that denial was the first step in the grieving process? Which, of course, only confirmed the fact that she was supposed to be grieving, which meant that he was actually—

_No_.

Burying the thought deep, Caroline paused in the act of brushing dirt and leaf fragments from her face, a surprising dampness coating her fingers. She viciously swiped at her eyes before fresh tears could spill over.

_No more thinking about it, remember?_

But she couldn't help it. It was _all_ she could think about, her recent phone call with Stefan being her sole distraction. She had latched onto that reprieve with the hollow ecstasy of Sisyphus each time he watched the boulder roll downhill, free from his burden for one glorious moment.

It felt nice, Caroline thought, talking to her friend, feeling needed again. It reminded her of how she used to get her kicks through the self-satisfaction of giving advice and being a friend and everything simple and nice and _human_. It reminded her of another life she used to have. God, that seemed like a lifetime ago.

The distraction was all too brief, though. Just a small, sweet taste of sanity—and with the cruel _click!_ signaling the end of their conversation, all the grief she had cast aside was just there, waiting, hers to reclaim once more. Nothing to do but keep pushing that boulder, again and again and again, forever. Only, she meant _forever_ forever this time. Grief took pity on no one.

Caroline had experienced tragedy before, once. At least the kind that hit this close to home. But as much as she missed her father—and she did; as much as she hated what he had done to her, there were still many nights when she cried herself to sleep wishing he were still in her life—she had made peace with his passing. He had chosen to die, despite her determination to change his mind. She had done everything she could. What she had told Klaus the night of the Mikaelson ball was true: As much as it hurt, she had let her father go with no regrets.

But _this_… Caroline had never experienced anything this painful before. Not even during the numerous torture sessions she had received in her short span as a vampire. There were other nights that the memories of Jules and Brady, vampire-Alaric, and yes, even her own father haunted her as they stood over her broken body, taunting and torturing her in all the ways she feared the most. And she would gladly relive those nightmares every night for the rest of her immortal life if she could just blot this one day out of existence. The man she loved—the one she wanted to spend freaking _eternity_ with—was dead. She had seen him in his final moments, helpless, unable to do anything but watch his face contort in agony until he forced her to flee the cellar, leaving him to die _alone_, and Caroline knew, she just knew that _that_ memory… That will become her new nightmare. For the rest of her pathetically long immortal existence. Every time she closed her eyes, all she'd see was Tyler…

_Tyler_.

His name alone was like a knife twisting in her gut. Thinking about his smile, his voice, the whispered _I love you's_ in her ear… Those bittersweet memories left her bleeding, raw, exposed to the unbearable pain that threatened to consume her yet again.

And in the middle of it all, Caroline couldn't help thinking, incredulously: Elena had lost so many more people than she had; how in the world did she cope with it all and not fall to pieces? And for the love of everything pure and sane, why was Caroline ever remotely envious of that life? It was the most ridiculous thing she had ever heard of, and if she could, she'd go back in time and slap her human-self with the all the vampire strength she had. But of course that was so stupid; if she could go back in time, she'd simply prevent Tyler from dying somehow, and then—

No. She couldn't go down this road. Not again.

She couldn't keep doing this to herself. She couldn't keep playing the 'what if' card and imagining all the alternate scenarios, what could have happened if she'd only rolled the dice differently, how much better everything could have turned out. It was a game she constantly played with herself, ever since tragedy became a Mystic Falls staple, and she was tired of her losing streak. After losing so much in one night, she'd be damned if she lost her sanity, too.

But there was still that nagging voice in her head, small, but gaining volume by the second as it urged her to do the one thing she swore she would never, ever do: turn it off. Turn off her emotions, this heart-wrenching grief—_Tyler_, the knife twisted again—her humanity, everything. Just make it stop, flip the switch, _turn it all off_.

It made sense. Vampires' emotions were heightened, so even humans didn't have an equivalency for this magnitude of anguish. The price they pay for immortality, and whatnot.

Fortunately, they came equipped with a solution: a convenient switch that allowed you to shut out all the bad stuff (pain, sadness, rage, despair, yadda yadda), and revel in the pleasure and satisfaction like a good little hedonist. And wasn't that just handy?

Naturally, it wasn't that simple, and it certainly didn't come without strings attached. Nothing in life ever does. Flipping the switch wouldn't lead to a life of rainbows and unicorns. It was more like… oblivion, or emotional purgatory, an inability to feeling anything—the bad _and_ the good.

And let's not forget the biggest price of all: blood, lots of it, on her hands. There would be tears, but they wouldn't be hers. There would be death, bodies, families torn apart from her ruthlessness, her selfishness in her choice to seal her own pain away, because she wouldn't, _couldn't_ care. She would be immune to the one disease that could destroy a vampire: emotion. Everything and everyone else was just collateral damage. And wasn't that the point? Pawn off her pain onto somebody—_anybody_—else?

Caroline shook her head vigorously, banishing the traitorous thoughts. There was too much death and pain in the world already.

Besides, that wasn't who Caroline Forbes was. She may be an insecure, neurotic control-freak on crack, but she wasn't a bad person. Alright, yes; technically, she was capable of doing terrible things. As a vampire, she had accepted that inconvenient fact. But she always knew that she had a choice, that _she_ was the one in control, not her baser predatory instincts. Without her humanity, she would lose every bit of that control she possessed. She would lose herself. She would lose the people she cared about—her mother, Bonnie, Elena, Matt, Stefan—simply by the fact that she would be incapable of caring about them in the first place. And Tyler, well… all those wonderful memories they had built together would disappear, too, as the woman he fell in love with spiraled out of control.

That last thought brought her up short. _How could you, Caroline? _she mentally berated herself, tears reforming. _Tyler loved you with everything he had. How could you even think about throwing away what you shared?_

There was no quick-fix. No way to make this better, easier. Not this time. Not even Caroline Forbes, chair of every town committee in existence and Miss Mystic Falls to boot, could fix grief.

She started running. She didn't remember deciding to do it. Her body simply willed her feet into motion, carrying her further and further away from her depression (she wished). She dimly realized that her tears were drying up, and that's all the persuasion she needed to keep going.

The wind in her hair felt good. Great, actually. For a brief moment, all she knew was the exhilaration of physical exertion—something she had discovered she loved along with cheerleading—and the addiction that came with the sense of control she felt as she pushed herself further, longer, _just a little bit faster_. If she ran fast enough, surely she could leave her grief in the dust where it belonged.

Tall evergreens became a blur in her peripheral as she zipped through the forest at vampire speed, occasionally leaping over fallen debris and ducking beneath exposed branches that threatened to knock her down. They wouldn't be doing that today. Caroline wouldn't let them.

But life had a funny way of derailing your plans, oftentimes in the cruelest of ways. What was that phrase? Something about the best laid plans of mice and men often go awry, and oh, who cares, she'd been too busy dealing with Supernatural Crisis #17 that week to do that stupid reading assignment anyway. And yet, here she was, standing right in front of the one place she definitely did not want to see again anytime soon.

The Lockwood Cellar.

It was where she had helped Tyler through his first agonizing werewolf transformation on the full moon, which inevitably sprouted their Romeo-and-Juliet-esque romance. It was where the two of them had, ah, _reunited_ after he had returned from breaking his sire bond to Klaus. And let's not forget, it's where he had spent his final moments, in terror, knowing he was moments away from knocking on death's door. Despite the happier memories she'd prefer to attach to this special place, it's that final one that would stay with her forever.

Why did her feet lead her here, of all places? Seriously, her subconscious had a really twisted way of kicking her when she was already down.

She fell to her knees, no longer able to keep the tears at bay. It just wasn't fair, none of this was fair! She shouldn't be here, facing the cruel world without him by her side. They were supposed to die together, weren't they? Wasn't Klaus the sire of her bloodline, too?

But Caroline's death would mean Stefan's death. Damon's. Even Abby's. She couldn't put her burden on them just because she felt like giving up. What was it that Tyler had told her in the end? _You're strong, and you have a beautiful future ahead of you_…

Caroline did not feel strong, not even close. She felt like the shell of the person she was, and she _hated_ that. So right then, Caroline made a promise to herself that she would try, however long it took, to be happy again someday. To do something meaningful with her life, because even though she couldn't share it with the boy she loved, she could damn well try to make it good. For Tyler.

She rose from the ground slowly, rubbing at her eyes as she took a few deep breaths. This is the last time, she vowed, that she would fall apart like this. She would attend Tyler's funeral, even if the Council's presence only allowed her to grieve at a distance, and she would mourn him for years to come, but never again would she allow herself to lose this much control. She just couldn't handle it. She wasn't made that way.

So with her final bit of resolve, she accepted her fate, dismal as it was. She had no intention of deluding herself, though. She knew from experience that the whole 'time heals all wounds' bull was exactly that: complete crap. But she would keep the promise she just made. She would go on living, no matter how painful it was. Someday she may even find happiness again—

A snapped twig punctuated the silent clearing.

—But that day wasn't today. Clearly she wasn't alone in her solitude.

Caroline whipped around, her blond curls flying over her shoulder, but there was no one behind her. Her first thought was, _Oh God, the Council found me_, and she immediately began lamenting that the promise she made only seconds ago would go unfulfilled. Adrenaline coursed through her system, her fight or flight instincts ready to kick in at an instant's notice.

When she heard nothing further, she wanted to dismiss the noise as a fluke, but her skepticism won out. Something wasn't right. Someone was near her, she could _feel_ it. And it definitely wasn't a Council member. Judging by their silent entry and lack of heartbeat, they weren't even human.

Her paranoia proved right when another _snap!_ came from her left.

Her head flashed to the side. Still no one. All that lingered was a familiar scent that she recognized a second too late.

A rush of air behind her—she whirled again—and then—

She froze. Air rushed into her lungs. Her eyes widened, round as saucers, disbelieving.

"Oh my God," she whispered. She blinked, but the intruder mercifully didn't vanish this time. "_Tyler_?"

* * *

"_Rebekah_."

Just outside Elena's doorway stood the Original vampire herself, predatory grin in place, clearly pleased with the effect she was having on the girl she had killed just last night.

Elena couldn't help seething. Rebekah's all-too-casual pose against her doorframe was beyond infuriating.

"Hello, Elena. Nice to see you alive and well." Her tone clearly suggested she was anything but.

"What the hell do you want?" Elena demanded.

Rebekah tutted. "Such hostility. I take it your heightened emotions aren't treating you well?" She cocked her head, considering. "You know, you could simply complete the transition and shut them all off… But then, how could you look down your nose at the rest of us heartless monsters once you've joined the club?"

Rage swept through Elena so fiercely she half-expected her blood to boil from every orifice of her body. She had felt powerful emotions before: happiness, on occasion; terror, frequently; grief, in spades. But never before had she experienced such explosive, raw anger. It was exhilarating, how powerful this feeling was, that she felt almost invincible… but a small voice in Elena's head—an annoyingly logical one that she wished would just _shut up_—screamed at her to pull back. Resist the temptation. She wasn't quite so delusional that she honestly thought she could go toe-to-toe with an indestructible Original and live to tell the tale.

But as soon as she shoved her fury aside, Elena felt another emotion take its place: shame. Rebekah's taunt, spiteful as it was, cut her straight to the core because it was _true_. She never wanted to be a vampire. Rebekah knew that; she was the one that did this to her.

_Bitch._

Suddenly, Elena was seeing red again. Her fists clenched, aching for a fight. Oh God, would this cycle of emotional hell never end?

Only the knowledge that Rebekah wanted this reaction—wanted her to cry out like a wounded puppy and make a pathetic and ultimately futile attempt to avenge herself—kept her in check this time.

(Otherwise, she'd have the blonde's head on a platter right about now.)

No, Elena wouldn't give her the satisfaction of seeing her fall apart. Not today.

She clenched her jaw. "What do you want, Rebekah?" she repeated.

The Original's smile turned sickly sweet. Mocking her. "Can't a friend pop by for a visit without suspicion of an ulterior motive?"

_Friend._

"—Or has the transition heightened your paranoia along with your emotions and your overinflated sense of self-importance?"

Yet another transparent attempt at baiting her. Rationally, Elena knew that—Rebekah never was one to be subtle. Or mature. Apparently a thousand years of living on this earth and she still behaved as childish as the eternal youth she embodied. As a kid rips off a butterfly's wings for sport, Rebekah had delightedly ripped away Elena's humanity in a moment of pettiness. From her suffering came Rebekah's triumph.

And even after that, after the one piece of herself that she treasured above all else was stolen from her, her murderer had to come out of her way just to rub salt in the wound? Seriously? Was this the sort of torture she could expect for the rest of her existence? A personal tormenter whose goal was to make every moment of her afterlife a living hell?

Screw that. Enough was enough.

"And what about you?" Elena volleyed back. "I remember the day you invited me over to reminisce about when you and your family were turned. You were so eager to see me as a friend that you told me whatever I wanted to know. Is that what's magnified for you—your desperate need for attention?"

If she expected Rebekah to retaliate, she was sorely disappointed. The Original's composure never wavered as she coolly replied, "At least one of us is honest about her intentions. Do you truly believe that you're innocent, that you're _better_?" Her expression darkened. "You can try to hide behind that disgusting self-righteous act that has the Salvatores so enamored, but it doesn't change the fact that you use people to get what you want, and then get rid of them after."

Elena knew exactly what she was referring to, and couldn't help feeling a reluctant pang of remorse, recalling the way she had daggered Rebekah so she couldn't interfere with the plan to take down her brother at the Homecoming dance.

The guilt didn't last. "Just like you got rid of _me_ last night to save yourself?" Suddenly struck with an idea, she tacked on, "Just like you tried to get rid of _Matt_?"

Bingo. _That_ got a reaction. Who knew her friend's name was the chink in this immortal's emotional armor?

"That," Rebekah hissed, "was not my intention."

Then, like the flip of a switch, her composure returned, and she was once again the focused, calculating predator. Elena automatically flinched away from the doorframe. Thank goodness her house was a Rebekah-free zone.

"I don't owe you an explanation," she declared. Her lips curled upward as she casually tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. "Now why don't you invite me inside and we'll have a proper chat like civilized people?"

Like _hell_.

"And why," Elena ground out through clenched teeth, "would I want to be civil with _you_?"

And just like that, Rebekah put her back on the defense. So much for exposing a weakness.

"Still so touchy. Come now, Elena. You stab my back, I stab yours. All water under the bridge. Oh, sorry—" Her hand flew to her mouth in mock-apology. "Poor choice of words."

Why was it that when Elena uttered her Freudian slip, she laughed to the point of hysterical tears, but when Rebekah spoke a similar phrase, she wanted nothing more than to make _her_ cry?

When Elena didn't respond, Rebekah looked a little put out; but she recovered quickly, shrugging indifferently. "Truth is, I'm not particularly interested in what you want at all," she replied, answering Elena's question. "In case I've been too subtle, let me make it crystal clear for you."

Rebekah deliberately leaned forward as close as the vampire-invitation barrier allowed her—an act that would have intimidated Elena if she didn't know she was safe. "I'm not exactly pleased that you're still breathing."

"So that's why you're here? To finish the job?"

The Original rolled her eyes. "I know it must shatter your perfect little world to hear this, but the universe doesn't revolve around Elena Gilbert. Truth be told, I'm actually here for Damon." Elena's eyes widened at that. "The Boarding House was empty, and we both know your place is Salvatore Central more often than not, so here I am. Now be a good girl and fetch your boyfriend for me, would you?"

"He's not my—" Elena began.

Rebekah sighed, exasperated. "Honestly, I have more important things to worry about than which brother is your current flavor of the week." Another eye roll. Elena was surprised they didn't pop right out of her head. "The white oak stake, for example. I know Damon took it from Alaric when he died, and I'm here to retrieve it before I put this hellhole of a town in my rear view for good. So I'll ask you again." Her voice held no humor this time. "_Where is he?_"

"Not here," Stefan answered her, materializing at Elena's side.

Rebekah paid him no heed. She only had eyes for Elena. "Ah, I was wondering when one of your body guards would show up." She glanced between the two of them, ultimately settling on nemesis once again. "Just curious, now that you're, let's say… _vampire-adjacent_," Elena glared at the jab, "will you still play the damsel in distress, or will you actually dirty your hands and fight your own battles for a change?"

Elena clenched her fists, keeping them firmly at her sides. Attacking would be suicide, she reminded herself. _Don't engage, don't engage, don't_—

"Rebekah," Stefan said firmly, attempting to divert her attention and get the conversation back on track. She smirked, and Elena belatedly realized that his interruption, though well-intended, simply proved her point.

Not discouraged, Stefan soldiered on. "Even if you're right about Damon, what's to stop any of us from using that stake on you?"

It didn't even sound like a threat; it just sounded like idle curiosity.

"Because unlike your half-wit brother, you're not a complete idiot. My brother is dead," she stated abruptly, "which leaves three possible originators of your blood line, myself included. I don't need to point out those aren't very good odds."

"And if you get it, you'll just… what? Take it and leave?" Stefan asked skeptically.

"I have no reason to stay," she replied bitterly. Elena idly wondered if she was still thinking about Klaus. Thinking of her own brother, she felt an unwelcome bubble of sympathy surfacing for her killer. Elena immediately squashed it. "I'll keep it safe."

"Safe from who, exactly?" Elena asked. "As you've already mentioned, we can't exactly use it on you."

"But you're not the only ones out there that want to end me and my family, are you?" Rebekah pointed out. "Alaric sicced his Council bloodhounds on the vampires in this town, and much as I'm loath to admit it, they aren't completely incompetent. I'm hardly about to leave the only weapon that can destroy us in the hands of Mystic Falls' inept band of would-be heroes," she scoffed. Turning to Stefan, she added, "So when Damon returns, see that he does the smart thing for a change and hands the stake over."

"And if we don't?" Elena challenged.

Rebekah's head snapped back in her direction. "Well, in that case," she drawled, her voice no longer sugary. She was dead serious. "As much as I would love to watch you suffer an eternity of misery as a vampire, I have no problem killing you all over again."

The next thing Elena saw was blond hair flying as the Original turned on her heel and began walking away at human speed, effectively ending the conversation. She only took a few steps before she paused, and glanced back at the girl she left speechless in the doorway.

"Be seeing you, Elena."

It was a warning, a promise. It left a bad taste in her mouth.

Rebekah, who may or may not have sired their bloodline, essentially got a free pass for her crimes. She had just threatened Elena into getting the white oak stake so that it didn't fall into the hands of the Council, who, by the way, was still on their heels. She threatened Damon, who already had his hands full bringing back Alaric's body for burial. She threatened Stefan, who was stuck babysitting her as her uncoordinated pre-vampire emotions spiraled out of control. Did she miss anything?

Elena let out a deep breath. Could this day possibly get any worse?

Glancing sideways, she shared an uneasy look with Stefan as she shut her front door.

She really needed to stop asking that question. The answer, inevitably, was always yes.

* * *

The knife twisted in Caroline's gut again, insistent that this was just false hope. There was no way he was actually standing in front of her. He was _dead_. She had seen him die with her own eyes… hadn't she?

"Caroline?"

_Tyler._

Speechless, all she could do was stand there and gape at him like a goldfish.

Hearing his voice, so achingly familiar and filled with such concern, was balm on her battered heart. It was all she needed to know the truth.

"What are you doing here?" he tried again. "You were supposed to leave town."

It sounded vaguely accusatory, but Caroline wasn't even paying attention to something so trivial. With his miraculous reappearance, the world and everything in it had faded away, leaving in sharp focus the only truth she cared about: Tyler was here. Right in front of her. _Alive_.

Her world was back on its axis.

Without thinking twice about how impossible it was, Caroline blurred over and threw her arms around him, peppering his face with kisses as she sobbed from pure happiness. Pulling back slightly, she gazed into his warm brown eyes—eyes that she never thought she'd see staring back at her again. She saw her own longing for him mirrored back at her.

"You—" her voice broke on the syllable. "You're here. But how? How are you alive?"

He opened his mouth, visibly struggling to make sense of it himself, but she didn't give him the chance to answer.

"You know what? Explanations can wait."

She had spent the last fourteen hours and thirty-seven minutes thinking Tyler was gone forever. Right now, she was beyond eager make up for that lost time and show her boyfriend just how much she had missed him.

Without further preamble, Caroline yanked his face to hers, joining their lips with bruising force.

* * *

"This is a bad idea."

Bonnie sighed for what felt like the tenth time. "We've been over his, Jeremy. You agreed this was the right thing to do."

And it was. Bonnie knew that without the spirits' help, this was the only way they might be able to save Elena from the horrible fate of becoming a vampire. Admittedly, when she first told Klaus she had a plan, she had been bluffing a little. She had an idea, yes, and a crazy one at that—but she had no idea if it was actually possible. A bit of light reading, some improvising, and a half-baked plan later, Bonnie knew that it _was_ possible. Not recommended, of course, but possible. There was just the tiny little catch that Bonnie might have to give her life to make it work.

It was risky, sure, but had they honestly thought something like this would be easy? Bringing someone back to life… it was the ultimate selfish act, the ultimate sin against nature, but nothing worth gaining was ever free. Bonnie knew this all too well. She knew the chance she was taking, and she was ready to pay the price and let the chips fall where they may.

Jeremy, on the other hand, still needed a bit more convincing. Apparently the last twenty minutes hadn't been enough.

She never thought it would take so much persuasion to get Elena's own brother on board with the plan, but she couldn't exactly hold it against him. After all, he was only worried for her sake, and she knew that if the situation were reversed, he would gladly sacrifice his life just as sure as she would try to stop him.

"You should at least send me instead," he suggested suddenly, almost as if reading her mind. "I can still see ghosts, so I'll be able to find Elena on the Other Side. Plus, I have my ring," he reasoned, "you know… just in case."

Bonnie had to admit, he made a valid argument. He was a medium that had experience communicating with the dead. It made sense, in a way… but she wasn't budging.

"You've already died too many times with that thing," she pointed out, the memories of Alaric's descent into madness hanging between them.

"But at least I have it if I need it," he argued. "If _you_ die, you'll be stuck in supernatural purgatory. _Permanently_."

Bonnie gave him a soft smile, touched by the depth of his concern for her safety. "It won't come to that," she assured him.

Honestly, it warmed her heart to see how much he cared for her, despite the fact that it was his own sister's life hanging in the balance. Bonnie loved that she still meant so much to him.

But she couldn't allow her actions to be dictated by sentiment or a guilty conscience. Neither would help their cause. The reason was simple: It was dangerous enough sending a witch to a realm where the dead roam free; it was beyond reckless to send a human, even one as well qualified as Jeremy. _She_ had to be the one to go, end of story.

The fact that she couldn't allow someone she cared about to step into the line of fire, not when she could protect them, was not lost on her either. But it was better if Jeremy didn't know that. He'd already spun that particular argument on her several times with near success, but she wouldn't let herself be swayed by making this decision out of emotion. _No sentiment, remember?_

No, if Bonnie had any guarantee of making him see that her way was the right way, it would have to be through plain, irrefutable logic.

"Remember what I told you," she continued, switching tactics. "Witches have liberty on the Other Side, free from the restrictions that other supernaturals face. Once I find Elena, I will bring us both back. If I sent you, there'd be no guarantee of that."

"No guarantee of what? Bringing Elena back, or bringing me back?"

"Either. Both." She paused, contemplating. "Neither of us knows what state Elena's spirit will be in on the Other Side. She's just in transition, so right now she's not fully alive _or_ dead. She could have a corporeal form, liked veiled matter, or she could just be mystical energy… I honestly have no idea. But whatever she is, she will probably need some _magical assistance_ to get her home." She smiled wryly. "Hate to state the obvious, but between the two of us, I'm the only one that fits the bill in the magic department."

"But you've also said that magic has a kind of push and pull effect, right?" he probed. She nodded, curious where he was going with this. "Then wouldn't it be more effective if _I_ pushed from the Other Side, while you pulled from _here_? I can't do much in this realm, but _you_ can."

Bonnie blinked. She hadn't thought of that. Despite herself, she was impressed. She knew that Jeremy was far from stupid (as much as he tried to play 'slacker student' role in school), and while she normally found intelligence a very desirable trait, right now it was putting a serious kink in her plan.

Until she remembered something important. "Actually, that's not strictly true. I invited you here for two important reasons."

"You mean besides moral support?" he quipped.

"Okay, three reasons," she conceded, a reluctant smile spreading across her face. "Since you and Elena are related by blood, as long as you and I maintain contact, I can use you to help pinpoint her location better once I've crossed over."

Jeremy nodded, understanding. "And the other reason?"

"You'll help me cross back." She shifted her weight, suddenly feeling uneasy. "I don't know what I'll see over on the Other Side… I may not want to come back, or even remember that I should. I need you to keep me grounded _here_, in the plane of the living, and help me find my way back."

She watched the light dawn in his eyes. "Like an anchor."

"Exactly. Once I've found Elena, I'll just retrace my footsteps and follow our connection back to you." She paused briefly, lowering her voice as she added, "Who better to be our lifeline than you?"

Bonnie hadn't realized how true those words were until she had said them out loud. Now that she had, she still wasn't sure why she felt the need to emphasize how much faith she had in him, but as she watched his expression fill with gratitude, she wasn't sorry she did. Besides, if a confidence booster was enough to sway him to her side, then so much the better.

"You push, I pull," he echoed, a twist on his earlier words.

She nodded with approval. "Something like that."

"Although," he went on, "still seems to me we're on equal footing. You've made a good case for yourself just now, but it doesn't change the fact that _either_ of us is capable of finding Elena and returning with her. _Either_ of us has the potential to succeed or fail. It's risky for _either_ of us." Bonnie instinctively knew she wasn't going to like whatever came next. "What I don't understand is why _you_ have to be the one to take that chance, especially considering that a witch is worth a hell of a lot more alive than Joe Average over here."

And they were back to square one.

"Haven't you listened to a word I've said? The risks are a lot less serious for me than for you. I can come back—"

"Really?" he interrupted, skeptical. "You can guarantee that?"

"Remember what I said earlier, about there being no guarantee of coming back if _you_ tried?" she countered, hoping he wouldn't call her out for deflecting. "Just as you would have difficulty even finding Elena, you might be prevented from coming back. The other witches… they might try to stop you from returning and upsetting the balance again." Truthfully, Bonnie had no idea if she was right, but it was a valid argument nonetheless. "You have an advantage as a medium, but unlike me, you're powerless there. Jeremy, you could die!"

He held up his ring as a reminder. "I can't, though, remember? Well," he backtracked, "I _can_, but I'd just wake up later, no harm done."

His nonchalance lit her fuse so fast, she wouldn't be surprised if she accidently set the room ablaze. "Yes, harm done!" she exclaimed. She felt her composure beginning to crack. "Elena's spirit wouldn't be able come back with you, not to mention you'd be one step closer to developing a murderous alter-ego just like Alaric! When are you going to understand that I'm trying to protect you just as much as you're trying to protect me?"

Once again, words seemed to pour from her mouth before she could stop them. True as they were, she hadn't meant to let him see just how scared she was for him. She needed to stay strong.

Stunned at her outburst, Jeremy said nothing. They stared at each other, neither one willing to break the silence until Bonnie couldn't take it anymore. They needed to get back on track.

"Look, we're going in circles," she said with forced calm. "We've been over this. Deep down, you know I'm right. You said before that you trusted me, so here's your chance to prove it."

She lifted her chin in determination, leaving room for no further argument. "Let's begin."

* * *

Klaus was certain there was nothing better in this world than kissing Caroline Forbes. And _that_ was saying something, considering the Original had had his fair share of women and blood and periods of hedonism throughout the last millennium. Even if he spent the next century in her embrace, basking in her angelic light, he knew he would never tire of it. He could never get enough of her. She was his addiction, pure and simple.

_Beautiful, strong, full of light…_ Those words had never held more truth than they did right now, with Caroline pressed up against him, her delicate fingers tracing patterns on his face like she could hardly believe he was real. Klaus certainly knew the feeling. Honestly, he had expected to wait at least a decade before she permitted him the honor of a kiss. Not that she knew any better.

Best not to quibble over technicalities. There was a gorgeous blonde in his arms, and he was going to make damn sure she got every attention she deserved.

Of course, that was easier said than done. (Nothing with Caroline ever was easy, after all.)

Every beastly instinct he possessed urged him onward, testing the limits of his control—consume, ravage, dominate, _bite_. It was that last impulse he took issue with, especially given their history. It wouldn't do to be a repeat offender, and he wasn't particularly keen to relive the memory of seeing Caroline's neck swollen and painful after a run-in with his sired pup. No, he'd have to temper that part of himself. For now. A thousand years had taught him patience.

It was that sort of practiced restraint that allowed Klaus to take his time with her, his ministrations so careful and deliberate they bordered on worship. Caroline was the most precious thing he'd ever beheld, and she deserved far more than the sort of instant gratification one obtained through rushing and inexperience. And even though rational thought dictated that his time with her was limited, his hands held her flush against him in a manner that promised he was never letting her go.

So he savored every second, exploring every inch of her, making note of what she liked and committing every caress, sigh, and taste to memory because, lord knew, he'd never get another chance like this. Monsters dream of heaven every day, but rarely do they get in, and never to stay.

He would have been content to languish in the sweet torture, but Caroline apparently had other intentions.

Impatient with the pace, she abruptly shoved him backward until he collided hard with something solid and uneven—a tree?—before immediately wrapping herself around him once again and attacking his lips with an urgency that bordered on desperation. Such desire, such passion… it was the most glorious thing he had ever seen—it was _empowering_.

Klaus wanted more. He _craved_ it, more than he had ever craved anything in his existence. She was dangerously intoxicating; so much so that it took him much longer than it should have to recall why taking this little rendezvous too far would be a very bad idea.

He wasn't used to denying himself anything, but in this case… Best to nip this in the bud before it got out of hand. Well, more than it already had.

In a feat nothing short of a miracle, he pulled away from her. For about a second.

"Caroline," he managed, internally wincing at the huskiness of Tyler's voice. "We should—"

She shushed him. "What did I say about talking?"

And then her mouth covered his again, picking up where they left off.

He tried, he really did. Was it _his_ fault she stopped him?

Klaus felt her teeth nip at his bottom lip, teasing him, and that was all it took to shatter the last bit of his self-control. Clearly Caroline's enthusiasm was affecting him in deep, dangerous ways.

_I'm already going to hell_, he reasoned._ Might as well enjoy the ride._

Abandoning his earlier restraint, he brought his hands down and took possession of her hips, flipping their positions so fast her head rebounded against the tree, drawing a surprised gasp from her. Taking advantage of her parted lips, he wasted no time invading her mouth with his tongue, exploring her, tasting her, memorizing every curve and crevice he could find.

All bets were off. He was done playing it safe.

But she didn't give him the chance. She fought back, meeting him step for step, her own tongue clashing against his with a force that momentarily stymied him. It had been so long since a woman, or anyone really, had even _tried_ to match him in any capacity. He really should have known better than to be surprised; Caroline never was one to back down from a challenge, and given her fiery response, that's exactly how she had interpreted his sudden display of dominance.

Before he could recover from the shock of her boldness, he felt her tongue slip past his, returning the favor with the enthusiasm and skill of someone well beyond her years—_lord_, she was a glorious kisser—an unspoken challenge of her own if there ever was one.

Well, if that's the way she wanted to play it…

_Game on, love_.

He felt Caroline smile against him, satisfied with her victory, and Klaus was sorely tempted to return the sentiment. Good. Let her think she had the upper hand. Lowering her guard would only make it easier for him to reclaim it.

Switching gears, Klaus' hands sought hers, gently stroking her fingers before interlacing them with his own… And then, without warning, he abruptly yanked them over her head, locking them in place as his body held hers tightly against the tree. It wasn't ideal, he'd admit—Tyler Lockwood's body didn't fit against hers quite as well as he imagined his own would, like two puzzle pieces—but what this inferior vessel lacked in physicality, Klaus was determined to make up for with a thousand-years-worth of expertise.

Caroline must have sensed his intentions as well. He felt her shiver and brace herself against him in what, he assumed, was anticipation.

Lesson Number One? _Never_ underestimate Caroline Forbes, because she will make a mockery of your assumptions. How many times did she have to prove that for it to sink in?

In a surprise maneuver that proved she deserved the title of Cheer Captain, she abruptly twisted in his hold so that his chest cradled her back, and then propelled the pair backwards at vampire speed. A feeling of déjà vu surfaced as, once again, Klaus felt his back slam against another one of the infinite trees surrounding them in the forest.

His distraction was all she needed to free her wrists, throwing him a coquettish grin over her shoulder in a very 'What do you plan to do about it?' manner.

_Vixen._

In truth, her reluctance to submit should have thoroughly frustrated him—disobedience never was something he tolerated before, a lifetime of evidence to the contrary proved that—but disappointment never even crossed his mind. As he watched the fascinating creature before him, eager to see what she would do next, all he felt was triumph. An alpha male needed an alpha female, after all, and Caroline proved time and again she was his equal in every way.

Turning around to face him once more, Caroline rid herself of her blouse in one swift motion, pausing briefly to allow him time to admire the view. And admire, he did.

His eyes hungrily raked over her petite form, her flawless skin flushed a beautiful shade of pink from her face all the way down to the subtle curves of her breasts. Her lips were rosy and swollen and perfect, tasting vaguely of mango and just as soft as he had always imagined. And even though he could tell by the redness of her eyes that she'd been crying recently, there was certainly no sign of sorrow now; on the contrary, the fire in her eyes made her look more alive than he had ever seen her.

(He made a mental note to paint that very expression later.)

It was a wonder his own eyes hadn't flashed gold, his latent wolf instincts itching to manifest, to take this beautiful woman in front of him, claim her as his own, and ruin her for any other man—something rather difficult to accomplish as he currently resembled her boyfriend.

Oblivious to his inner conflict, Caroline flung herself into his arms once again, clearly pleased with his assessment. The heady scent of vanilla mingled with pine and something else—sunshine? was that even possible?—assaulted his senses once more, and in that moment he felt himself drowning in everything _Caroline_. It was the closest he had ever felt to being desired, truly and completely _wanted_; and manipulated though it was, Klaus knew he would replay this memory in his head until the end of time.

Determined to mark her body as vividly as she had his mind, he continued his assault on her mouth with renewed vigor, a growl tearing its way from his throat, eager to prove just how deeply she affected him. To make her _his_ just as he was already hers.

_Always and forever._

Urgently he traced a line of open-mouthed kisses from her mouth to the hollow of her throat and down towards her shoulder, smirking when she tensed and let out a surprised gasp. It was music to his ears. Determined to hear it again, he paid special attention to her pulse point, alternating between licking, sucking, and blowing gently on the sensitive area. He couldn't help but rejoice when her pulse jumped, knowing he had the power to affect her as deeply as she affected him. The erratic pattering of her heart urged him on in a way that words never could. And he was more than happy to continue, until—

"God," she moaned, breathless. "_Tyler_."

And just like that, his moment of bliss came to a screeching halt. Hearing that traitorous mutt's name from Caroline's lips—it was the wakeup call that he both needed and hated with equal measure.

Klaus stiffened, and it clearly didn't escape Caroline's notice. He looked in her eyes, searching for something, he wasn't sure what, before he gently extricated himself from her arms and turned away.

"Tyler? Are you okay?" she asked with genuine concern.

Too bad it wasn't for him.

"Perfectly fine. Amazing, actually."

Facing her again, one look from her told him she wasn't buying it. She knew something was off. Her perceptiveness, a trait he admired her for any other day, was proving most inconvenient at this moment.

"What are you doing back in town? You know it's not safe here for you. For either of us," he amended, aiming to distract her. They couldn't go back to how they were before. Not anymore.

She raised her eyebrows at the abrupt topic change, but thankfully didn't comment on it. "I couldn't just go without you. And then I heard about what happened to Elena… and I knew I couldn't turn my back on my friends when they needed me, so I came back. But how on earth are you alive? When I left, you were dying!"

"I'm not quite sure myself," he evaded. "One minute I thought I was dying, the next… I wasn't. It was weird," he added, scrunching up his face in what he hoped was a passable attempt at Tyler being clueless. Not that that was particularly hard.

If Caroline didn't buy his excuse, she gave no indication. She simply smiled and embraced him again, whispering in his ear, "Well, whatever it was, I'm so glad… so glad you're alive."

Klaus smiled. "As am I."

She pulled back slightly to look him in the eye. "Do you remember our first kiss?" she asked suddenly. Apparently awkward segues were their _thing_. "We were at Elena's birthday party, and you brought Slutty Sophie as your date." She shook her head in laughter. "God, was I jealous. You and I had been flirting all summer, and then you showed up with _her_, and I got so mad that I just kissed you out of the blue, and I remember thinking then that that was the happiest moment of my life, finally being with you the way I wanted."

Listening to her ramblings, Klaus wanted to gag. Actually, no; he wanted to rip his own skin off. _Tyler's_ skin. The very disguise that, while once convenient, was inspiring a suddenly unwelcome affection on the woman in his arms.

"But _this_," she went on, sighing, "seeing you alive right now… it just makes that wonderful memory seem like a bad dream in comparison."

"We have the rest of our eternal existence to create plenty more wonderful memories. Together," he murmured, leaning closer. "No time like the present."

Sensing that their window of opportunity together was dangerously close to slamming shut (by his own pride, no less), he resigned himself to one final kiss goodbye before she inevitably ran back to his mutt—a boy so undeserving of the gift of immortality the Original had bestowed upon him, and even less worthy of calling this beautiful woman _his_.

Klaus' gaze briefly flickered from her mouth to her eyes, seeking affirmation, but he was surprised to see an iciness there that had been absent in her nauseatingly sweet narration down memory lane.

"Kiss _this_," she bit out.

The next thing he felt was Caroline's fist violently colliding with his jaw.

* * *

Candlelight bathed the living room of the Bennett house, casting an array of flickering shadows around them from the collection of flames swaying in the chill night air. It was one of those weird witchy things, Jeremy figured—there shouldn't have been a draft inside a sealed house, and yet, even after checking and sealing the nearby windows and doorways, a steady little breeze persisted. Magical energy surrounded them. Even someone non-magical as _him_ could feel it. It was just one of the many things that should have sent him running for the hills (and definitely would have a year ago), but now… Now he hardly batted an eye. This was his new normal.

Good thing his threshold for the freaky things that go bump in the night was all but nonexistent now. If past experience was any indication, things were about to get _way_ weird. Again.

Seated across from Bonnie on the floor, Jeremy watched as she took a deep breath, their eyes meeting one final time before she finally let her eyelids slide shut. Her brow furrowed—Bonnie's telltale sign of deep concentration.

"Here goes nothing," she muttered, the subtle hitch in her voice betraying her and confirming Jeremy's suspicions.

Bonnie was afraid.

Afraid of death, afraid of losing control, afraid of failing. Just… afraid.

And who in their right mind _wouldn't_ be? Bonnie was literally going to _kill_ herself and bring back his dead sister's spirit with her on the off chance that she'll just wake back up, and Elena will magically be human again, piece of cake. And worse, Jeremy was actually _letting_ her do this. Supporting her, even.

Laying it all out like that just solidified what Jeremy had been saying all along: This was the most messed up plan of all time.

Unfortunately, it was also their only shot. _For Elena_, he reminded himself.

Pushing his own doubts aside, Jeremy gently gave Bonnie's hands a comforting squeeze. She had to be twice as nervous as he was. Beneath the soft candlelight, he saw her lips curve upward and he felt momentarily relieved. He hoped that she took the gesture as more than just a sign of support; it was one of faith. He trusted her completely.

Jeremy looked down at their locked hands, the large silver ring on his finger catching his eye. Not for the first time, he desperately wished that it would work on supernatural beings. He would have already forced Elena to take it, knowing how much of a trouble magnet she was. If only the Gilbert ring could protect doppelgangers…

Witches, too. He would shove his ring onto Bonnie's finger in a heartbeat if it would do any good. Seriously, what had Emily Bennett been thinking, creating an object powerful enough to save its wearer from a supernatural death, only to tack on a 'humans only' clause? She was excluding her own descendant from the ultimate protection. Where was the justice in that?

Jeremy kept a firm grip on Bonnie's hand, determined to protect her against the unknown through sheer force of will, whatever it took. He would not lose her. No one else was dying today.

Reassured, Bonnie lifted her chin and without further hesitation, she began chanting.

Jeremy had seen her perform spells many times before, so he had a decent idea of what constituted 'normal' in the witchy community. A gust of wind, a flash of candle flames, a bloody nose—all par for the course with difficult spells. Jeremy expected those; hell, he expected _worse_.

Nothing happened.

Frustrated, Bonnie repeated the incantation, but still nothing. She sighed audibly, keeping her eyes firmly shut. Jeremy rubbed his thumb across her knuckles in what he hoped was a soothing motion.

Gradually he felt the tension leave her, and after several full minutes of deep breathing, Bonnie began again.

This time, Jeremy had no doubt that she would succeed, so strong was her determination. She repeated the incantation once, twice, three times, never faltering, her confidence rising each time she uttered the Latin phrases with an expertise only the most powerful of witches could attain—and at last, the spell started to take effect.

At least, Jeremy hoped that was what was going on. With all the wind whipping around them and disturbing the delicate arrangement of candles, one can never really be sure. But _something_ was happening, and Jeremy could only hope all the chaos surrounding them was a sign of success.

Bonnie gasped and involuntarily pinched Jeremy's hands. The candle flames roared to life, dangerously close to where they were sitting. She kept going.

Faster and louder the words tumbled from her lips, taking on a life of their own as the manifestations of her spell became impossible to ignore. Jeremy nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard the window slam open, the wind suddenly increasing with gale force intensity. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched in horror as several candles toppled over from the end table, igniting her couch on fire.

He turned back to the source of the chaos. "Bonnie, you have to stop! We have to—"

The words caught in his throat as soon as he saw the first red trickle leave her nose, a ruby trail stretching all the way past her chin. Jeremy had been prepared for it, but the sight still filled him with panic. Even more than the fire growing around them at an alarming rate.

One drop became two, and two became five, and within seconds, blood was gushing out of her nose like a faucet, running down her face past her lips—pulled back in a painful grimace—and staining her teeth. It was a wonder she was still conscious.

The scorching heat surrounding them tore his gaze away from her. Jeremy glanced about the room, helpless, as the sight filled him with dread.

The fire, magnified by the relentless torrential wind, was spreading out of control. In the few seconds Bonnie's nosebleed occupied his attention, the flames had snaked their way across the couch, completely engulfing it, and were now licking their way up the curtains of her open window.

Still the wind churned faster, fanning the flames and sprouting new ones as other candles were tossed about the room. It was a miracle none hit the two teenagers sitting in the middle of it all. At this rate, the house would be a pile of ash in just a few minutes.

Whirling back to face Bonnie, Jeremy nearly balked at the sight. Blood still flowed freely from her nostrils, pooling along her neck and chest. She looked like some kind of extra from a terribly cheesy horror movie. Only Bonnie didn't seemed traumatized; if anything, her voice never sounded stronger. What she lacked in control, she made up for in zeal as she repeated the same phrase over and over. Chest heaving, she practically screamed each word, never losing momentum, like she were is some kind of intense hypnotic trance. Like she had no idea what was happening. Like she couldn't stop even if she did. It was horrible.

It was too much. He snapped.

Frantic, Jeremy wanted shake her awake, break her concentration—_anything_ to end this nightmare once and for all. He tried to disengage their hands, but hers were like a vice around his own. All he could do was struggle in vain and shout her name like some desperate Hail Mary prayer.

"Bonnie, stop! I can't let you do this!"

But there was really no _letting_ her do anything at this point. She was immune to his voice and everything else seated in reality. He couldn't reach her. She was too far gone. And now they were both going to pay the ultimate price for the unforgivable sin of not wanting to lose one more of their loved ones.

All of a sudden, Bonnie's eyes snapped open and her hands loosened their grip as she gasped for air. Her terrified eyes found his.

It took Jeremy a second to realize she wasn't gasping in relief. It sounded like she was choking. Suffocating. Her shaking hand reached towards her heart—

And then, all at once, the raging fire disappeared and the remaining candle flames flickered out, their light extinguished the same instant as the light in Bonnie's eyes. She exhaled one final time before she slumped over sideways.

Screaming her name, Jeremy knelt over her and automatically shoved his first two fingers into the hollow of her throat, searching for her pulse.

There wasn't one.

* * *

Stefan watched as Elena resumed her route around the kitchen, through the living room, and back again for what had to be the twentieth time. Ever since Rebekah had left the house in dramatic fashion, Elena had been pacing, desperately trying to work off the anger that came with being taunted and threatened by the person who killed you and feeling completely helpless to do anything about it. Stefan was proud of Elena for restraining herself as much as she did. Had he been in her position, he knew that his impulses would have gotten the better of him, and without someone restraining him he would have leapt across that protective threshold and gone down fighting. Elena, fortunately, was much stronger than him.

"I want to kill her, Stefan," she seethed, staring ahead as she continued wearing a path into the carpet. "I want her _dead_ for what she did to me. For what she did to Matt! She deserves it."

Truth is, Stefan couldn't agree with her more. But Elena didn't need somebody enabling her anger. She needed someone to ground her, someone to keep her from going over the edge. He could do that for her.

So he watched from his position on the couch, resisting the urge to pull her in closer. It was better that she let out all her frustration rather than keeping it bottled up and letting it consume her over time. He would know. He had spent years repressing the urge to drink human blood, desperate not to turn into the Ripper again; and for all his efforts, the bloodlust ended up controlling him anyway—not the other way around. He didn't want Elena's fury to control her, either.

Knowing anything could set her off, Stefan kept his voice calm as he tried to reason with her. "I agree. But what if she's telling the truth? What if she's the sire of our bloodline?"

"I don't care," she snapped, and Stefan was alarmed at how much she meant it. "I can't let Rebekah ruin any more lives. What if she goes after Damon next? What if she _kills_ him in order to get her hands on the white oak stake?"

"I've already called him three times. Still no answer," he told her, shaking his head helplessly. He had been trying unsuccessfully to reach his brother ever since the Original made it clear that she would do whatever it took to obtain the one weapon the could destroy her and her remaining siblings—including kill Damon along with the rest of them.

A ringtone broke the tension. Stefan pulled out his phone, relief settling in as he identified the caller.

"Damon," he acknowledged, putting him on speaker. "Listen, you should get back here as soon as you can. We've got a bit of a problem."

"Well, apparently misery really _does_ love company, because I've got one more bombshell to add to our ever-growing list," came his troubled voice from Stefan's receiver. Alarm bells immediately went off in his head, imagining any and every horrible scenario possible—an unfortunate side-effect of residing in Mystic Falls.

"Really more of a head-scratcher, actually," Damon amended, and Stefan was relieved to hear that his brother sounded more annoyed than panicked. "He's not here. Not where I left him, anyway, and unless he pulled a Houdini—"

Stefan cut across him. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about _Alaric_, Stefan, keep up."

"Damon," Elena interjected, sounding as puzzled as Stefan felt, "what exactly are you saying?"

A sigh from the other line. Never a good sign. Especially from Damon.

"I'm saying _he's not here_," he repeated, frustrated. "Ric's body is gone."

* * *

**A/N**: Dun dun dun!

Sorry for the distinct lack of Delena this chapter, but it's necessary for plot. Remember that this story is primarily plot-driven, and that everything else comes second. The romance of this story is definitely more of a slow-burn… yes, I know we already had 3 seasons of it to deal with, but we're still not quite there yet… be patient! Hopefully the Klaroline in this chapter will tide you over? Or not. Even I'll admit that it was sort of unnecessarily long. What can I say? Love those two.

So I'm curious: Is this story too slow? Too predictable? Confusing? Really really boring? I can take it! Keep in mind that we haven't gotten to the real heart of the story yet, so that's something to look forward to. Speaking of plot… Any theories as to what's going to happen next? I'm very interested to hear!

And just a reminder: Now more than ever I can't promise any sort of reliable updating schedule, as, understandably, real life has to come first. The good news is that I have not abandoned this story and have no plans to even though I'm in a bit of a tough spot right now. All I ask is that you please be patient with me. Thanks!


	5. Through the Looking Glass

**Disclaimer**: Anything you recognize doesn't belong to me.

**A/N: **Hi, all! Thanks so much for all the follows, favs, and reviews. Your support definitely makes this more enjoyable to write. I felt like the last chapter wasn't quite up to par, so thanks for sticking with me. This chapter, I think, has gotten this story more on track, pacing-wise. Emotions run high in this one (particularly for our leading lady), so just sit back and enjoy the ride.

Also, many apologies for the delay – you would think unemployment would give me more time to write, but no dice. It's actually a very stressful time in my life, so I appreciate your patience. I thought about waiting to post this until I wrote a bit more of Ch. 5, but I think you guys have waited long enough ;)

There's a longer A/N at the end to clarify a few things, but right now, on with the story!

* * *

_Life is brief_

_But when it's gone _

_Love goes on and on _

– Love, Nancy Adams

* * *

**Chapter 4: Through the Looking Glass**

"What do you mean Alaric's body is gone?"

Damon rolled his eyes at his brother's need for clarification. Did the phone line separating them interfere with his ability to understand basic English?

"I mean," he ground out, squeezing the phone tighter against his ear, "he's missing, absent, not there, AWOL, Elvis-has-left-the-building, _gone_. And I seriously doubt Virginia just got its first zombie, although nothing would surprise me at this point."

"And you're sure he's not just… somewhere else in the storage unit."

The Camaro roared and lurched forward as Damon's foot bit down on the accelerator. Stefan's inquiry was just a tad too… _calm_ for his liking. Just this side of skeptical. Like the kind of placating response a parent gave their child who claimed their favorite toy was lost—you know, the annoying _"Are you sure it isn't where you left it, honey?"_ question.

"Why no, Stefan. I figured I'd just cut corners and give you a ring because you're such a great conversationalist."

In predictable fashion, his brother side-stepped the sarcasm, opting to focus on the issue at hand. "You think someone took him."

_By George, I think he's got it._ "Bingo. Feel free to place your bets elsewhere, but my money's on the Original sister, seeing as her brother's crispy corpse was nowhere to be found either."

"Rebekah? But why?" Elena chimed in, sounding faintly like her vocal chords had gone through a cheese grater. One of the many lovely perks of prolonged thirst… but the full significance of that fact would have to be filed away until later. "What could she possibly want with Ric?"

Damon could practically _hear_ the cogs turning in that overactive imagination of hers.

Still, it was a fair question—one that he had asked himself when he first inspected the storage facility, expecting to find the remains of his former drinking buddy, and instead found the site as empty as his gas tank.

At first, he had thought maybe, just maybe, Alaric had been right: that law enforcement had finally caught up and done its job for a change. But that scenario just didn't wash.

For one thing, if the area had been properly processed, the police would still be here, snapping pictures, taping off the crime scene, and whatever other CSI crap they did. But there had been none of that. Everything had looked exactly the same as last night—everything minus the two missing bodies.

The area had even _smelled_ the same. See, humans have the rather (un)fortunate tendency of leaving distinct scent trails wherever they go. Not that they were necessary. There wasn't exactly a shortage of people to eat, not to mention that super speed and strength essentially made hunting a no-brainer, enhanced olfactory senses or no.

On occasion, though, bloodhound tracking capabilities _did_ come in handy. Which is exactly how Damon knew that there had been no humans in that storage facility since he'd fled last night.

The list of suspects narrowed significantly after that, and Rebekah fit the bill to a tee.

Non-human? Check. Knew the location of the bodies? Check, check. Vindictive little bitch with a score to settle?

Well, the implication spoke for itself, didn't it?

"Alaric _did_ kill her favorite brother right in front of her," Damon reminded them. "Maybe Barbie Klaus needed an appropriate target for the hissy fit she's bound to throw."

There was a pause as they considered the theory.

Elena broke the silence first; in spectacular fashion, too. "That's—that's horrible! We can't let her do that!"

Stefan's response was a bit more composed. Like both halves of one mind, those two. "What are you going to do?"

"Well, normally I'd say to hell with the grave robber, but our reunion's a bit overdue as it is. I'll handle it."

"Listen, about Rebekah—"

"You can unclench, Stefan. As much as I'd like to, I won't kill her. I'm not an idiot."

In lieu of a Maury-esque vampire DNA test that ruled out the Original sister as the sire of their bloodline, his retribution might have to get a little… _creative_.

"Although I _am_ tossing around the idea of finishing what the quarterback started and running her over with my car. It's unhealthy to let resentment bottle up, you know."

"Damon—"

"On second thought, there's no way in hell I'm going to add my damaged wheels to her list of casualties over the last twenty-four hours." He patted the steering wheel fondly. "My baby's way too good for that."

"Damon, listen." Elena this time. "She was here. At my house."

That sobered him up instantly, as evidenced when he nearly jerked the car off the highway. "What the hell did she want? Scratch that, I don't care. Did she hurt you?"

With a renewed sense of urgency, he pushed the car faster, ignoring the needle on the speedometer as it climbed ten, twenty, thirty mph above the speed limit. He didn't care. Compulsion worked wonders against speeding tickets. It was a remedy even more effective than a hot chick's crocodile tears.

"We're both fine," Elena assured him, but he didn't buy it. She still sounded shaken. "Rebekah's still not invited inside, but it doesn't matter because it's not me she's after. It's _you_."

Damon's eyebrows lifted. "I take it she didn't want to sell me Girl Scout cookies."

"She's after the white oak stake, she knows you have it—"

"And made it pretty clear that she's not leaving town without it. She'll do whatever it takes to get it, including kill the three of us and everyone we've ever met."

It was times like these that Damon sincerely appreciated his brother's ability to… _unsweeten_ what didn't need to be sugar-coated.

"Rebekah? Making nasty and oh-so-obvious threats?" he scoffed. "I'd say I'm surprised, but you know what they say. Tigers, stripes, blah blah blah."

Not mollified by his attempt to lighten the mood, Elena's voice nearly shot up a full octave. "Damon, seriously, don't go picking a fight with her! She's pretty pissed that I'm still alive, and I don't put it past her to take her pound of flesh from you out of pure spite!"

"Elena, relax. I have absolutely no intention of dying today. Or ever, for that matter."

Briefly removing his hand from the wheel, Damon palmed his jacket pocket where he knew the indestructible Original-slaying weapon was stashed inside. Rebekah wouldn't kill him just yet. Not until she got what she wanted.

Unfortunately for her, he wasn't exactly the giving type.

He smiled wryly. "Besides, she and I still have business to settle."

He had told Elena that he would bring their friend home so that they could put him to rest. It seemed like the least he could do for her, given the circumstances. And he certainly had no intention of breaking that promise and coming home empty-handed just because the Original Brat decided to throw a tantrum of apocalyptic proportions.

And hey, if he happened to get a few shots in while he was pulling a Mission Impossible, so much the better. Whoever said you shouldn't mix business with pleasure obviously hadn't read the Damon Salvatore Handbook.

He heard Stefan sigh—whether in resignation or in simple acknowledgment, he wasn't sure. "Be careful, brother."

"Have a little faith, Stef. And Elena?" The wheels screeched as he swerved to the right, taking the exit leading back to the little dystopia known as Mystic Falls. "Don't you dare set one foot outside that house."

Without waiting for a response, Damon tossed his phone away and floored the accelerator.

* * *

Deep within the tranquil woods of Mystic Falls, the hybrid's face snapped to the side with a sharp, satisfying _crack!—_a sound Caroline knew she would replay in her mind over and over again whenever she needed a quick pick-me-up.

She'd probably pay for her right hook in a minute, but right now?

_So_ worth it.

"You can drop the act, Klaus. I know it's you in there."

"Clearly," he huffed, rubbing his jaw with grim amusement, and dammit, he didn't even look like he was in pain at all!

As if guessing her thoughts, his face relaxed into that familiar grin he gave her whenever he was trying to be charming—a look that was so typically _Klaus_, it was a wonder she ever believed him to be her boyfriend—and continued with, "You know, you have impressive strength for such a young vampire. How's your hand, love?"

_Love_. The nail in the coffin. Not that his ruse really needed one anymore, but still. Confirmation.

Seriously, though, why couldn't he just succumb to pain, anger, or humiliation like any other hot-blooded, testosterone-fueled guy? (Was being smug even _allowed_ after someone punched you in the face?)

Caroline knew it was beyond reckless, but deep down she so badly wanted him to lash out at her, for him to be affected and _feel_ something. Hell, she'd take a fully transformed, rampaging wolf—anything but this maddening tough-as-stone routine!—if it meant that she'd wormed her way into his head the way he'd wormed into hers.

Still seething, she gave him a terse "fine" and lucky for her, he didn't call her on it.

His perception was dead on, though: her hand _did_ hurt like hell. In fact, she probably broke two fingers from the impact (_hard-headed jerk_), not that she could really tell anymore. Her bones had nearly finished knitting themselves back together thanks to her supernaturally quick healing abilities.

Too bad _pride_ didn't heal as easily. Hers was somewhere on the ground with… _Crap_.

Ignoring the heat flooding her face, Caroline quickly retrieved her discarded blouse and yanked it over her head so hard she nearly ripped the fabric. Turning back to Klaus, she noticed a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Caroline clenched her fists at her sides. She was sorely tempted to punch him again, but right now what she needed more than stress relief was answers.

"What the hell did you do to Tyler?" she demanded.

"Nothing that will leave permanent damage, I'm afraid," he drawled, looking very much like he had more to say on the subject, but then thought better of it, adding seriously, "Actually, you have your witch to blame for my… predicament."

"Bonnie?" she frowned. "Why would she…?"

"Think, love. How do you suppose Tyler survived—how _you_ survived—after Alaric staked me?"

"She did something," Caroline sighed in relief, anger briefly melting away. "She saved you, which saved our entire vampire bloodline. Huh," she mused, "you really _weren't_ lying about being our sire."

"You know, I find it a little insulting that _that's_ the part you find surprising," Klaus commented with mild irritation, "considering Bonnie Bennett is a self-proclaimed vampire hater who would give anything to keep precious Elena from joining the ranks. Whereas I, despite whatever misguided opinion you seem to have of me, rarely find occasion for lying. And why would I, when other methods of persuasion can be far more effective and straightforward?"

Caroline scoffed. _"_Right. Because mind control, threats, and acts of violence are much kinder." _Not exactly the way to endear yourself to me, genius_. "And for the record, Bonnie doesn't _hate_ vampires, she—wait. Hold the phone," she stopped herself, latching onto a new thought with an urgency she didn't quite understand. "What did you mean, Bonnie would give _anything_? What exactly is she doing to save Elena?"

When he didn't answer immediately, Caroline feared the worst because let's face it: Bonnie's track record for playing the sacrificial lamb wasn't exactly squeaky clean. She really would give up everything for her friends, including her own happiness. And her life.

_No._

Klaus simply stared back at her, watching her put the pieces together, as if her distress was some kind of fascinating drama that he couldn't wait to see play out. And even though he watched her through Tyler's eyes, she could instinctively sense (with an insight of his character that disturbed her on a much deeper level) that there was more to his scrutiny than idle amusement.

He was hiding something. Which meant that he knew. He _knew_ what Bonnie was planning, and still he wasn't saying anything! Was this some twisted form of punishment for hitting him and wounding his ego? Keeping her in suspense until she cracked?

Not in the mood for his games, she leveled the Original hybrid with her best, most withering Queen Bee glare.

"Klaus," she hissed. "_What. Is. She. Doing?_"

* * *

The first thing Bonnie sensed as soon as her eyes flew open was an unexpected feeling of _control_.

It wasn't like waking up first thing in the morning. She felt no grogginess, no disorientation, no sense of contentment after getting a peaceful night's shut eye.

No, it was like being plunged face-first into an ice cold bath: shocking, scary, and utterly _real_. She had landed here abruptly and without warning, and it was all she could do to keep her feet on the ground.

After a moment, though, when her mind had had a chance to catch up with her senses, her perspective shifted. Being here wasn't scary or strange, at all; in fact, it felt bizarre by the very fact that it _didn't_ feel bizarre. It felt normal.

Normal because she knew exactly what was happening and why she was here. She remembered everything leading up to this moment with surprising clarity: her conversations with Jeremy; her risky plan to keep Elena human; her living room ablaze from the effects of her spell; the last breath she took before she died. Because that's what she was. Dead. She knew that. Even now, as she moved about her surroundings, she knew that she wasn't literally _here_.

What she didn't know was why _here_ looked exactly like the Gilbert's living room.

Strange. Either she had completely messed up the spell somehow, or the Other Side actually looked like—oh.

Elena. She was here, lying right in front of her, asleep on the couch.

Even in unconsciousness, Elena looked miserable. Her breathing was steady, but the audible rasping grabbed Bonnie's attention.

Most people probably wouldn't have noticed, but Bonnie had had too many sleepovers with her friends not to know that Caroline was the snorer, not Elena. Elena internalized, rather than vocalized, her pain. But at least she never had to suffer alone. None of them did.

Maybe misery really did love company, but for the three life-long friends, slumber parties were about so much more than blowing off steam. They looked out for each other. They drew strength from each other. They always had. Somehow, being together was a balm for the nightmares from which they all suffered: Elena, ever since the death of her parents; Caroline, from the post-traumatic stress of being tortured on numerous occasions; and Bonnie herself, the undesirable side effects of inheriting the Bennett family legacy.

It was one thing for nightmares to invade _her_ dreams; if one of her witchy ancestors or freaky premonitions wanted inside her head, there was really very little she could do to fight them off. Her friends were another story. She could watch over them, protect them, comfort them. They didn't have to suffer her fate.

Which is why Bonnie usually stayed awake until she knew that Caroline and Elena had already drifted off into peaceful slumber before she allowed her own eyes to drift closed. Even then she had a difficult time falling asleep, knowing what might await her on the other side.

Speaking of the Other Side…

Bonnie looked down, taking a closer look at Elena's haggard appearance, and her stomach dropped. Transition was already taking a much heavier toll on her friend than she'd feared.

Bones protruded from Elena's face and joints, giving her the look of a girl who hadn't eaten in a week. Her normally rich, olive skin had turned deathly pale, as if her very life force (_blood_)had been draining from her body ever since she woke up from death. In sharp contrast to her pallor, dark circles framed her eyes, squeezed shut in discomfort. Some indecipherable battle raged behind them that Bonnie could neither see nor stop.

It was awful.

To anyone else, Elena could have been sick with a bad case of mono, or something equally mundane; not the horrible, supernatural metamorphosis that Bonnie knew it to be. And this was only the beginning. Within hours she would be worse. Much worse.

Suddenly uneasy, Bonnie looked away, pausing when something else caught her eye.

On the coffee table beside her sleeping friend sat the remnants of a turkey sandwich, exactly one bite taken out of it, along with a rolled up napkin. Looks like Elena, too, was desperate for a way to circumvent reality. As if human food could satisfy what her body truly craved.

She couldn't blame Elena for trying, but denial wasn't going to solve anything. _And that's where I come in_.

Squaring her shoulders, Bonnie strode over to the living room windows and peaked through a gap in the curtains. The sun was high; early afternoon, probably. Not good. Given Elena's time of death last night, Bonnie figured she had maybe ten hours, tops, before intervention became impossible. Less than half a day to perform a miracle.

(On the bright side, if her plan succeeded here and now, she wouldn't need the extra time.)

She was on her way back to the couch, when—

"Bonnie."

The voice was soft, muted, but Bonnie whipped around like someone had put an air horn up to her ear.

No one was there.

"It's Stefan."

Much as she was relieved that the mystery voice was at least a familiar one, she still had no idea how he could even see her, much less talk to her, while she was on the Other Side. Only _dead_-dead people were supposed to do that.

Anxiously following the voice to its source, Bonnie found Stefan in the Gilbert's kitchen.

He was leaning rigidly against the island with one hand, the other held up to his ear. He wasn't looking at her.

She called his name, a sound that seemed to ring in the silence, but he gave no indication that he heard her. Not even a flinch.

"Just calling for an update," he continued, and Bonnie dimly realized it wasn't _her_ he was talking to, but her voicemail. "Elena, she's… Well. Let's just say time isn't exactly on our side. I guess I don't have to tell you that." He sounded every bit as exhausted as he looked. "Give me a call when you can. And no matter what happens, Bonnie, thank you. Just… thank you." He ended the call.

Bonnie reached out, wanting to answer him, only to stop and retract her arm. Stefan didn't even know she was here. Beyond the veil, everything she said fell on deaf ears. Everything she did went unnoticed.

Everything except one thing. The reason Stefan thanked her. The reason she made this trip. The reason she needed to move… _now_.

With an about face, Bonnie marched back into the living room.

Standing in front of Elena this time, she suddenly felt nervous. Not to mention _clueless_. It wasn't like her Grimoire had a necromancy tutorial with step-by-step instructions. What on earth was she supposed to do now?

Deciding to let her instincts be her guide and hope for the best, she reached out for Elena…

And stopped cold when she felt a firm hand grip her shoulder, pulling her back.

It was done, game over. The witches found her. She _failed_.

Dreading the sight that awaited her, Bonnie slowly turned around to face her fate.

She gasped.

"Grams?" she whispered, her heart bursting with joy. "What's going on? What are you doing here?"

"Bonnie, you need to stop," Sheila commanded sternly—a far cry from the warm Southern drawl Bonnie had grown up hearing. Now her grandmother radiated authority with a force that would have given her pause, if not for the touch of real affection in her eyes. "Leave this darkness behind you, child. It's not for you."

"But Elena—"

"Is no longer your concern. Nature has decided her fate. You need to respect that."

"I can save her," Bonnie argued.

"No, you can't. I won't allow it."

Bonnie's jaw dropped. Her Grams had discouraged her from dangerous spells before, but never had she outright _forbid_ her from anything. Not even when Bonnie had sought to free Stefan and Damon from the tomb spell, knowing full well that the magic required was beyond her granddaughter's skills at the time. Instead, though it violated her principles, she had actually _helped_, exhausting her own magic past the point of recovery.

Sheila Bennett had sacrificed her own life in support of a decision she never even agreed with; how could _this_ decision, one that would save Bonnie's best friend, be over the line?

As if realizing she had been unduly harsh, her grandmother's eyes softened. "We have all lost people, Bonnie. Your pain is not greater, nor does it deserve more mercy, than the rest of ours. Just because you have the power to change something, baby, doesn't mean that you should. People die. That's nature's way. It's something we all have to come to terms with, sooner or later, and unfortunately for you, that time's sooner than most."

Bonnie felt shamed, but she shook her head decisively. "I—I can't. Grams, I'm sorry." The words felt weak in her mouth. "Elena's like my sister. I would do _anything_ for her."

Sheila opened her mouth to respond, but the soft voice that came out was not hers.

"I sincerely hope you mean that, Bonnie."

Alarmed, Bonnie spun towards the source of the new voice—and froze.

The ghost of Emily Bennett stared back at her.

* * *

"_No_."

Eyes downcast, Caroline slumped in bitter acknowledgment of the tale she had just heard. Considering the source, it would have been easy to argue it as another deception, but she knew better. This was exactly the sort of thing Bonnie would do.

Klaus shrugged indifferently. "I'm afraid so, love. Same old song and dance, only this time it's a Bennett witch volunteering to play the latest fool in a long line of Petrova doppelganger would-be-saviors. Never turns out well for them, does it?"

Caroline, still too horrified to even defend her friend, remained silent.

"If she is successful," he went on, a bit too brightly, "dear Elena will be human, I will once again have my key ingredient to make more hybrids, and Bonnie will put me right again, as promised. Speaking of which," his voice lowered, wistfully, "you seemed to solve that riddle rather easily. You figured out who I really am."

When she still didn't respond, Caroline felt a gentle finger lift her chin, coaxing her back to the present—an innocent gesture, maybe, but if the electricity flowing between them was any indicator, it was anything but. Her eyes snapped to Klaus, wary.

His gaze was admiring and intense, filled with a million burning questions. If the eyes really were the gateway to the soul, then she was totally screwed. Hers held no secrets, left no ambiguity. In her raw and emotional state, she might as well have been an open book in an x-ray machine. And Klaus was looking at her like she held all the answers. Like he was seeing deep into her core, discovering something that she never even knew existed, and he liked what he found. It was equal parts terrifying and exhilarating.

"That's what I enjoy about you, Caroline," he whispered, breath warm against her cheek. "So much more than a pretty face."

At that, alarm bells wailed inside her head, severing the connection between them. She felt the loss more than she cared to admit.

God, it was sickening, the deceptions this man would dress up in sincerity—when she was vulnerable, no less!—just to win her over. The subtle touches, the seductive tone, the freaking _wolf-dressed-in-sheep's-clothing_ routine…

Caroline had no doubts that these cheap tricks had worked wonders on his list of conquests spanning the last millennium. And, she reluctantly admitted, they probably would have worked on her a year ago when she was still a pathetic, human attention-whore. But that time had come and gone. She would never be that girl again.

Stepping out of his proximity, Caroline shrugged off the compliment. "Actually, it wasn't all that hard to figure out. You gave yourself away, in the end."

"Oh?" He looked genuinely surprised, as Caroline knew he would be. One didn't exactly gain a reputation as the master of manipulation by being easy to fool. Especially when the victor was a young, inexperienced, small town girl—Vampire Barbie, no less. "Enlighten me."

Caroline smirked at him, savoring the brief shift of power back into her corner. "Well, you didn't contradict me when I mentioned my first kiss with Tyler, which, by the way, was on my front porch, _not_ at Elena's birthday party."

She had to admit, she was pretty proud of herself for that verbal maneuver. Not only had she managed to trick the almighty Original hybrid with it, but she also had the added bonus of witnessing his discomfort as she vividly recounted an intimate moment shared between his traitorous lapdog and the girl he fancied. _Jackpot_.

"Ah…" Klaus seemed to reach the same conclusion. "Truly, love, I'm impressed, although I'd expect nothing less from you. I am curious, though…" His gaze sharpened, regarding her in that bewildering way of his, yet again. "Given that you were testing me, you obviously suspected that something was off. What, did I not accurately portray Lockwood's brutish charm?"

Caroline rolled her eyes, but otherwise ignored the slight to her boyfriend. "I've known Tyler for most of my life. It didn't take a genius to figure out that you were somebody else," she said, keeping her tone as neutral as possible. It wasn't even an outright lie.

But one look from him told her that that lame half-truth wasn't going to fly.

"Come now, sweetheart. A vague response like that is a rather transparent attempt at deflection. No, something tipped you off to the truth. Something subtle. A tell that only you could detect. Perhaps," he mused, eyes glittering with mirth, "something you would prefer to keep to yourself?"

Whatever affirmation he sought from her, he must have found it because now it was _his_ turn to look smug. She automatically braced herself for the ax to fall.

"So tell me, Caroline." He was outright grinning now. _Jerk_. "What was it?"

And there it was. The question she was really, _really_ hoping he wouldn't ask because the answer was far too personal, and embarrassing, and _so_ not his business!

She folded her arms over her chest and sighed. This was ridiculous. She wasn't some dewy-eyed little girl, for crying out loud! She had secured Miss Mystic Falls (over _the_ Elena Gilbert, to boot), organized the best dances this town had ever seen in record time, and was living proof that Council-mother/vampire-daughter relationships could work. No challenge was impossible for Caroline Forbes.

So, despite the traitorous blush rising on her cheeks, she lifted her chin and locked eyes with the Tyler look-alike.

Which, given what she was about to confess, might have been a mistake. "When we were kissing, you, um…"

"Yes?" he prompted softly, obviously relishing her discomfort. He leaned forward, invading her personal space. Seriously, hadn't this guy heard of boundaries? "Go on, love. What did I do?"

She hesitated for a second more, then blurted, "You kissed my neck."

A moment of horribly awkward silence, and then—

Klaus smiled, realization dawning. "Where Tyler bit you."

"Where you _made_ him bite me," she corrected.

He waved that off. "And I'm guessing that the young Brutus has since been exercising a certain amount of… _caution_ in that region out of consideration for you. A pity, that he still doesn't quite trust himself, even after he went to all the trouble of breaking my sire bond. How _noble_ of him," he remarked with derision. "And how careless of me to overlook it."

"Oh, don't be so hard on yourself, Klaus," she said coldly, turning away and putting a few mandatory paces between them. "It must have been really tough to think clearly, what with your tongue down my throat and all."

"No need to be crude, love," he replied coolly. "It's hardly a capital offense. Let's not make an opera out of it."

Caroline spun around to face him, eyes widening with incredulity. His nonchalance rendered her speechless, a ticking time bomb, and then—

The fuse ignited.

"Are you freaking _kidding_ me?" she exploded. "You're actually going to stand there and defend your actions because, what? You didn't take as far as you could have? My _hero_!" she mocked, throwing her hands up in frustration. "Let's get something straight, mister. I am _not_ some kind of trophy that you can just steal out of spite or greed. I will _not_ be the pawn in whatever petty revenge scheme you're planning against Tyler—"

"This was never about—"

"_And_," she cut across him, "whatever tenuous… _understanding_ we had? Consider it _gone_."

"And what understanding would that be, hm?" he shot back, his own anger rising. "The one where I gift you with a priceless heirloom worth more than a castle and you, in a petulant fit, throw it at my feet like garbage? Or the one where you bat your eyelashes and flash a bit of skin to distract me while your friends dagger my brother? Or the one—"

"Oh sure, make me the villain, when we both know that your Evil To-Do List makes Hitler look like humanitarian of the year!"

"_Evil_," he spat the word like it was laced with vervain, "is a rather immaterial term for vampires. You're not human, Caroline, and you're not a child, so it's time you give up your naïve notion that the world we live in is so black and white. Give it a few decades," he challenged, "and you will learn that _evil_, as you call it, exists not as one extreme, but in many different shades. It is rather exhausting, not to mention futile, to condemn every single one of them." He sent her a look, adding, "Especially when the sin merely amounts to desiring your company in the form of a few stolen kisses."

She let out a rather undignified snort. "Is this the part where I thank you for your not-particularly-solicited, not to mention _disturbing_ views on vampire morality? Seriously?" She tilted her head, a new thought occurring to her. "I don't know why I'm even surprised."

"And why is that?" Klaus prompted, genuine curiosity laced with something darker. A warning.

She spoke without hearing him. "You even said it yourself," she recalled. "'_Other methods of persuasion_.'"

His eyes narrowed. "I don't follow."

"Romantic drawings, diamond bracelets, and let's not forget, using the _sire bond_ to play the hero—" she ticked each failure off on her fingers "—didn't work. Idle chit-chat outside the Grill was a bust—" another finger "—so now you've resorted to impersonating my boyfriend to score with me? What, were you too proud to compel me, and body snatching was just a convenient loophole, too good to pass up?"

Klaus' jaw clenched. "Enough, Caroline."

But it was too late. She felt herself gearing up for Round Two, and the insults rolling off her tongue tasted too good to stop now. Besides, her mouth had always had a mind of its own, overriding reason and silencing any self-preservation instinct that screamed _shut up now_. Not even Helios himself could rein in the verbal assault.

Caroline bridged the gap between them, her voice gaining strength along with her confidence. "How does it feel, knowing I only gave you the time of day because I thought you were someone else? Someone you _despise_."

Gold flared within the brown of Tyler's eyes, but the fury was all Klaus. "I suggest you stop," he growled, "before you say something we both regret."

She ignored him. "Did you really think it would work? That I wouldn't figure it out? Or that I _would_, but not until you'd had enough time to do whatever the hell you wanted? What kind of monster—I can't even…" she spluttered, her momentum screeching to a halt as words failed her for the first time in her life.

She forced several deep breaths through her lungs to settle her rage, as she finally realized it was pointless, the whole ordeal. She could beat this dead horse till the sun went down, but Klaus would always be a stubborn, amoral jackass. He was beyond remorse, but never beyond the sins that create it.

_The sin merely amounts to desiring your company_, he had said to her.

Laid out that way, it sounded so… innocent. Like it wasn't a true sin at all, but merely a sad, unrequited longing. Like loneliness.

Her voice softened in spite of herself. "Are you really that desperate for someone to love you?"

She asked the question without thinking and was surprised to find that her curiosity burned for the answer.

Not that she expected to get one.

If looks could kill, then her heart should've already been on a pile of leaves by now. Klaus looked like he was using every bit of restraint he possessed to keep himself rooted to the ground, fists clenched firmly at his sides. His eyes flared gold again, stronger this time, and his breathing came hard and fast, giving him a feral look. Honestly, he looked downright _freaky_, and Caroline was already cursing whatever stupid sense of vengeance made her poke the bear.

Okay, this was bad. But she could fix it.

She just had to give him an out.

"You know what? I don't even care. I've said my peace. So unless you have any other creepy vampire lectures or artificial seduction techniques you'd care to try, I'm leaving."

And with that, Caroline spun on her heel and stomped away, leaving a seething Klaus in her wake.

"Where do you think you're going?" he demanded.

"I'm going to drag Bonnie back here so she can fix the mess she created!" she snapped. "_Don't_ follow me."

Without looking back, Caroline quickened her pace.

* * *

Before Bonnie could even decide how to react, her grandmother stepped in front of her, blocking her from the intruder.

"Why are you here, Emily?"

Their ancestor's eyes sparkled, but her face was otherwise an unreadable mask. "My apologies, but this matter is one that concerns us all, not just you and your granddaughter."

"I told you," Sheila said evenly, "that I would handle this."

"Yes, you did. I am simply here to make sure it is handled properly." Glancing past her, Emily added, "Your grandmother is right, Bonnie. What you are attempting is very dangerous. And completely against nature's plan." Despite her words, her tone held no hint of a reproach.

Sheila crossed her arms. "You're stepping on my lines there, kid."

If Emily found it offensive that her descendent was treating her like the young girl she embodied, she made no mention of it. She merely gazed back at the woman placidly.

Bonnie glanced between the elder Bennett witches with an odd sense of amusement. The situation was strange, all right, and made even stranger by the fact that they were exchanging lines right in the middle of the Gilbert's living room with a sleeping Elena right beside them, oblivious to it all.

Stepping out from behind her grandmother, Bonnie addressed Emily directly. "What did you mean before, when you said that you hoped I would do whatever it took to get Elena back? What does she mean to you?"

"Nothing at all." There was no malice in the reply; if anything, it just sounded like a blanket statement of fact.

"O-kay," Bonnie said slowly. "Then why the words of support?"

"I have an offer to make you. I am willing to give you what you want," Emily explained, "if you are willing to return the favor."

Bonnie's curiosity piqued as fast as her uncertainty.

She couldn't help but recall the last time she did a _favor_ for her ghostly ancestor: holding a séance and inadvertently inviting her to use Bonnie's body as a living vessel to prevent Damon from releasing the tomb vampires—all in the name of 'protecting her family,' of course. Never mind the part where she nearly got her own descendent sucked dry by the very guy she was trying to stop. How's that for gratitude?

Still… Devious as Emily was, a compromise was far better than an outright refusal, and Bonnie knew that without her cooperation, Elena didn't stand a chance.

"You want to make a deal," Bonnie clarified, still leery.

Her grandmother seemed to be thinking along those same lines. She stepped forward again. "Enough. I mean it, Emily, no more of your trickery."

Emily, too, moved closer to the pair. "I am sorry, Sheila," she said, though she didn't particularly look it, "but given the circumstances, I believe it is best if Bonnie and I continue our conversation in private."

Next thing Bonnie knew, her grandmother had vanished from the scene in the span of a finger snap.

"Grams? Grams!" she called, glancing wildly around the room. She whirled on Emily. "What have you done?"

"I've only sent her away for the time being. She is fine, I assure you." Bonnie still wasn't convinced, and Emily seemed to sense that. "Consider the state of things, Bonnie. The longer you remain on this side of the veil, the closer to death you become. Therefore, it is more prudent if our negotiations are conducted without further interruptions."

At the reminder that time was not on her side, Bonnie glanced uneasily between the ghost who couldn't be trusted and the friend who desperately needed her help. She felt the scales tip back and forth.

Deciding that it couldn't hurt to hear more, she relented. "Go on."

For the first time, Emily smiled. Bonnie wasn't sure why, but whenever her ancestor did so it made her look… well, _creepy_. Unintentionally so, like it was simply the only other expression she had.

"It is as you have said: I would like to arrange a deal between the two of us. One that will help your friend here." She gestured to the still-sleeping Elena. "Will you hear it?"

Bonnie was sorely tempted, of course, but she recoiled with mistrust. This was a mistake. Every encounter she shared with the ghost only reaffirmed that instinct.

And yet, all she could see right now was her best friend dying not five feet away from her, and Emily as the lone obstacle between them, offering the very thing Bonnie had journeyed to the land of the dead to find.

For a price.

Bonnie had already risked her life. Was it really possible for Emily to raise the stakes even higher?

But even if her terms were agreeable, could she be trusted? Bonnie knew that she had already reneged on one deal, the one promising Damon Katherine's freedom in exchange for his protection of the Bennett line. Could she guarantee that Emily wouldn't go back on her word this time around?

And did any of Bonnie's doubts even matter, when the alternative could mean Elena's death?

The choice was hers, and it had to be made now. There was no time to hesitate.

Sealing their fate, Bonnie locked eyes with the elder witch…

And nodded. "I'm in. Tell me how to save her."

* * *

_Elena was drowning. Again. At least, that's certainly how it felt. _

_She didn't even know how she landed in this… what? Pond? Lake? Or, God forbid—the tributary beneath Wickery Bridge again?_

_She choked, her lungs burning from lack of oxygen, and her arms flailed wildly, seeking refuge from this hell. It was all she could do to figure out which way was up. Bubbles swirled around her, obscuring her vision as they floated in a unilateral direction—and mercifully pointed the way to her salvation._

_The edges of her vision already fuzzy, Elena used one last burst of adrenaline to kick her way towards the surface, but she could already tell she would never reach her destination before the darkness claimed her. It was too far. The last of her air and energy stores were depleted, and her limbs had already begun to betray her, floating uselessly around her. She was dying._

_Desperate, her fingers stretched towards the surface…_

_And a firm hand grasped them, yanking her free of her aquatic prison. Elena fell to her hands and knees on solid ground, coughing at the haste with which she gulped air into her system. She felt pain and relief, simultaneously._

_Her soaking-wet clothes weighed heavily on her weakened body; the cold water dripping down her hair and skin left her shivering; and her lungs still felt like they were trying to turn themselves inside out. But despite all of that, Elena couldn't remember a time when she had felt more grateful to be alive. Someone had rescued her, yet again._

_When she finally felt her equilibrium approaching normal, she looked up to thank her savior, who had so far remained silent while she got her bearings._

_If she weren't still trying to catch her breath, she would have gasped at the sight that greeted her. _I'm dreaming, _she realized, but she didn't care. She hoped it would last forever._

_Her mother's loving smile beamed back at her. "Hello, Elena."_

_It that moment, Elena had never missed her more. _

_She looked just the same, better even, than on the day she died. Miranda Gilbert had always had a sort of youthful beauty, with her flowing chocolate brown hair and infectious smile—the same smile that Jenna had, too. The one that invited you to unload your problems as you would to a close confidante, not necessarily a stern parental figure, though she certainly knew how to be both. It was that unique balance that underscored the close bond Elena and her mother shared. Not exactly conventional, sure, but it was _theirs_. It was perfect._

_And until now, Elena had thought she would never experience it again. Her mother's death had parted them; but her own, apparently, had brought them back together. For that alone, she couldn't bring herself to regret the events that had led her here._

"_Mom?" she gaped. "Oh my God… It was you? _You _saved me?"_

_Miranda nodded, looking somewhat amused at her daughter's astonishment. "Of course I did, honey. I love you."_

_Before Elena knew what was happening, she was in her mother's arms, drenching her clothes and sobbing half-hysterical apologies over and over. Her legs trembled again but her mother's embrace was solid, lifting her up._

_With one hand on her daughter's back, Miranda rubbed slow, comforting circles, just like she used to do when Elena was a child. "Honey, why are you apologizing for almost drowning?"_

_Elena swallowed thickly, struggling to get the words out, but they felt like glue in her mouth. "B-because I'm the r-reason you and D-dad are d-d-dead…"_

"_Elena, no—"_

"_It's because of m-me!" she cried. "_I_ bailed on family night, _I_ went to the bonfire, _I_ needed a ride home! If I hadn't been so selfish, we'd all still be a family!" _

_Despite her mother's protests, Elena continued bawling into her shoulder, tears mingling with the dampness on her shirt. Miranda let her get it all out, never halting the soothing motions on her back. _

_Elena felt like she was back in grade school, after she had confessed to taking Bonnie's Barbie doll in a jealous fit. The guilt had gotten to her, of course, and she had broken down in similar fashion with full-on water works and blubbering. This time, of course, her sin was far greater._

_After several minutes had passed, Elena felt her tears begin to dry up, but only once she stopped hiccuping did she venture to speak again._

"_Now Jeremy has no one… because of _me_." Her voice was muffled against her mother's skin._

"_What do you mean?" she asked. "Jeremy's not alone. He still has you, honey."_

_Elena sniffed audibly. "No, he doesn't. Not anymore. Not really." She exhaled deeply, sagging against her mother's chest. "I'm _dead_."_

_Miranda stiffened. "Not completely," she whispered. "Not yet."_

_Still shaky, Elena pulled away to lock eyes with her mom. There was no hesitation or judgment in them, just honesty and love. And perhaps a touch of grief._

"_How can you say that? How can you be okay with me becoming… one of_ them_?" She couldn't bring herself to say the word. "You and Dad were on the Council, you grew up hating them, you trained to _kill_ them… How could I live with myself, knowing I've become the very thing you and Dad hate?"_

"_Elena, listen to me," her mother said firmly, and she knew the tone well. It was the one nobody, not even her Dad, could argue with. "Part of being a parent is accepting who your children are, and loving them no matter what they do or who they become. We couldn't stop loving you, or Jeremy either, even if you decimated an entire town." _

_Elena balked at the (all too real) possibility, but her mother just continued smiling at her. "Love is love, sweetheart. It's unconditional, a force much stronger than any logic. You love the bad with the good because in the end, they're your reason for being." _

_Nodding dimly, Elena felt a pleasant warmth building in her chest and spreading to her extremities. She hadn't even realized she had long since stopped shivering. _

_Her mother's counsel swirled around in her head. She was right about one thing, at least. Love certainly was a powerful force. She saw as much every day._

_How else could people as unyielding as Sheriff Forbes and Mayor Lockwood cast aside generations of prejudice in order to embrace their newly immortalized children? How else could Elijah save Klaus, or Damon save Stefan, after decades and even centuries of bad blood between brothers? How else could Jeremy look her square in the eye and promise that he would support her even if she weren't human—the same claim that her mother had just made?_

_Love was strong, all right, perhaps the strongest force in existence. Elena only hoped that it was enough to get her through this. If it didn't, nothing would._

_On the verge of feeling overwhelmed, she felt the pangs of another sob forming in her throat, but she swallowed it down. Time with her mother was already tragically short; she wouldn't waste any more of it on tears. _

"_Is this actually happening?" Elena asked suddenly. "I mean, are you really here, or am I just going crazy?"_

"_Do you _want _it to be real?"_

_That wasn't an answer. "Of course I want it to be real!" she said fiercely. "Do you know how many times I've cried myself to sleep, wishing that night never happened? How many times I've begged to talk to you, or even just hear your voice? And now you're actually _here_… At least, I think you are." She shook her head in bewilderment. "I just keep waiting for the catch, for the universe to say 'Sorry, just kidding,' and take you away again now that I've found a moment of happiness."_

"_None of this is fair, honey, and I'm so sorry." Elena started at that; why was _she_ apologizing? "I'm sorry that we left you, and that you've had to grow up so fast and deal with so much pain. It's far more than anyone your age should have to go through." _

_She reached out a hand, and Elena took it instantly._

"_But you've always persevered," she went on. "You've always come out the other side fighting, no matter how hard it was. You've done a beautiful job taking care of Jeremy all the while going to high school and hitting every supernatural curveball thrown your way. Elena, I couldn't be prouder to call you my daughter._

"_My daughter…" she repeated, pensively. "You've probably been wondering about that, haven't you? About why your Dad and I never told you about your birth parents."_

_Elena shook her head. "It's okay. I mean yeah, I was curious when I first found out, but now it just seems so… I don't know, trivial. I know Uncle John isn't actually my uncle, and I met my birth mom…" She hesitated. This wasn't exactly a road she wanted to venture down. _

_So she ended it. "They're not my real parents. You and Dad are."_

_Miranda gave her hand a gentle squeeze. "Do you know why we named you Elena?" she asked, taking her daughter by surprise. "It means 'light.' And that's exactly what you were to us: our little miracle, a light in the darkness. You still are."_

"_But I'm not." Elena tried to keep the despair from seeping into her voice, but judging by the look on her mother's face, she was doing a horrible job. "Now I'm _part_ of that darkness. I'm a _vampire, _Mom!"_

_But Miranda was already shaking her head. "Not yet," she emphasized. "But even if you decide to make the transition, it doesn't mean you'll be lost to darkness. We both know you're strong enough to fight to be whoever you want to be."_

_Elena felt as if the air had retreated from her lungs again. "Are you saying… are you saying I should do it then? Transition?"_

"_No one can make that choice for you, sweetheart. You have to do what's right for _you_, and no one else."_

_Elena sighed in frustration. Couldn't she see that _that_ was the problem?_

"_What if I don't know what I want?" she asked. It was a distant echo of a question from another lifetime. "I don't want to leave Jeremy alone, but… Mom, I never wanted this. I was supposed to grow up, start a family, and live a _human_ life. I'm not meant to be a vampire."_

_Her mother regarded her for a moment, considering her response. "If that's your decision, then I will support you. I'll always support you, sweetheart, no matter what. But let me ask you something." She dropped Elena's hand, taking a couple steps away and gesturing towards the watery almost-grave she saved her from. "When you were in there, why did you try so hard to reach the surface? Why not just… let yourself die?"_

_Elena blinked in surprise. "I… I mean, it's basic instinct, isn't it? Survival?"_

"_Exactly," Miranda confirmed. "You reached out. You fought to live. Which tells me that you're not ready to fold your hand just yet." She returned to her daughter's side, placing her hand on her shoulder. "Honey, if you're uncertain about what it is you truly want, then my advice is to listen to what your heart is telling you. It'll guide you, if you know how to listen."_

_Nodding in understanding, Elena pulled her mother in for another hug. Once upon a time, she believed her mom's hugs could cure anything—a knee scrape, a bad grade, even heartbreak. She wished it were enough this time. But even love couldn't stop death._

"_I'm scared."_

_Elena spoke the words before she could stop herself, but found that she didn't regret them. For anyone else, it might have felt like an admission of weakness; but here, with her mother as a safety net, it felt like sharing a side of herself that she dare not share with anyone else. It felt good. Safe._

"_I know, sweetheart. But you're a Gilbert, and you're strong. And most importantly, you're not alone."_

"_I just wish you and Dad were still with me," Elena sighed._

"_Oh, honey. Me too." Her mother's fingertips ghosted across her back. "Then again, who says we aren't?"_

_Elena smiled. Perhaps death had met its match._

* * *

Vodka martini in hand, Rebekah plopped down onto her favorite designer lounge chair and sighed, the sound echoing throughout the cold, empty halls of her brother's mansion. _Her_ mansion, now.

Lord, that sounded awful. Niklaus was dead, actually _dead_, and since her other brothers were nowhere to be seen, the deed to the property would likely fall to her by default. As if she wanted to stay in Mystic Falls—a blemish on the face of the earth if there ever was one.

Nothing good had come from this town. _Nothing_. Like a pathetic puppy, she had obediently followed Klaus to the birthplace of the latest doppelganger—the very girl who later stabbed her in the back and destroyed her faith in her brother by exposing him as their mother's true murderer. Even the reunion of her siblings couldn't erase the horrible scars this town had left on her. And now, there was nothing and no one left in it. Why on earth would she stay?

As soon as she acquired the white oak stake from Damon, she was setting this horrible, memory-stained house ablaze and getting the hell out of dodge.

Swirling her drink idly, Rebekah observed her lavishly decorated surroundings with mild distaste.

The only thing in this room she actually liked was the very chair she sat on—a gorgeous modern piece with cream-colored cushions, an asymmetrical arm, and a curved back that molded perfectly with her own—and she had to fight tooth and nail just to have _that_ much say in the décor. _("It's far too large for this room, Rebekah, and the material hardly fits the color scheme I've already established." "I don't care, Nik! It's comfortable and tasteful and it's the one thing in this bloody house that's _mine_!"_)

In the end, though, her brother had finally relented. Whether out of exasperation or out of a subtle desire to make her happy, she didn't know. It hardly mattered now.

Rebekah ran her fingers over the smooth upholstery, savoring the feel of each and every fiber. She sighed again. Beautiful though it was, Klaus had been right. Just as she didn't belong in this town, her chair didn't belong in his house.

In all honesty, she had never really agreed much with her brother's taste—far too garish and impractical, if you asked her—but then again, she had never possessed the artistic lens through which he perceived everything. Klaus viewed the world as a blank canvas, ready for him to sketch and cover in whatever image he desired, even if he was the only one who _got_ it. That's what Rebekah disliked most about art: the hidden meanings, the secret agendas. She preferred a more… _honest_ approach.

Now that she thought about it, perhaps her craving for candor in the world resulted from the backlash of dealing with deception and betrayal on a daily basis at home. From the outside looking in, it must surely seem to the ignorant masses that the Mikaelson siblings, the legendary Original family, were a strong, united front standing above the rest. That was good. That was exactly the image they strove to project, no matter how much it clashed with the harsh reality, because it discouraged any errant notions of rebellion.

But despite whatever fairytale the public saw, the truth was that they were a family divided, a group of pretenders living together, promising loyalty, _always and forever_, only to turn on each other whenever it suited their needs. Even Elijah, with his sense of honor—an attribute that failed him whenever convenient—had broken her trust more than once over the centuries.

None of her brothers, though, had hurt her more deeply than Niklaus.

Strange that he was also the only one who never left her. Then again, perhaps that was more a curse than a courtesy.

A millennium spent wandering the earth together, and somehow, the two siblings still never seemed to get it quite right. They were a pair doomed to forever misunderstand one another. It always ended the same: both alone and miserable, with her sealed in a coffin for the unforgivable sin of daring to live her own life. Like the last time in Chicago, when Mikael had closed in around them, and rather than choose a brother whose love was poison, she chose a new love. A pure one. Stefan.

Klaus, as per usual, made her decision all about him.

She really should have seen the dagger coming. He practically wrote the book on abandonment issues, and leaving him for another had never exactly worked out in her favor before. Not once did he ever trust her enough to come back to him; and deep down, Rebekah never truly trusted that he would let her go.

That sort of toxic magnetism had always defined their relationship. For better or worse—the case often being the latter—neither could conceive of a life without the other.

_And look how well that turned out_, Rebekah pondered, sourly.

It was irony at its cruelest. Two mismatched siblings thrust together by the same misguided force that pulled them apart. A lifetime of endless disappointments, empty promises, broken hearts… With so much bitterness between them, had love ever really stood a chance?

Rebekah pursed her brother was dead, but here she was, still feeling haunted by his ghost. It wasn't fair. The one consolation of his passing was that she had _finally _secured her freedom, completely and unconditionally. No more running. No more daggers. No more dealing with his catastrophic mood swings. She could go anywhere. She could make a life outside of this family. It was _her_ choice. So why did she still feel suffocated?

And then it hit her. She was suffocated by _grief_. She missed him. She actually _missed_ the bastard.

Hating her brother had always been so much easier than risking her heart, forgiving him after each betrayal, but that had never stopped her from repeating the same mistake over and over again. The proof was inside her right now: despite the resentment burning deep in her gut, she still cared. She still hurt. She longed to see him again. Though she truly hated him, she had long since accepted that loving him was an inevitability that transcended everything fair and rational and healthy. Apparently, that's what it meant to be family.

_Family above all_, they had said, time and again. _Always and forever_.

Forever sure hadn't lasted as long as they thought.

"Damn you, Nik," she whispered, swiping at a defiant tear. "You _promised_."

Standing up, Rebekah took a small sip of her neglected cocktail, hardly tasting it. Then she hurled it across the room with an anguished shriek.

Shards of glass ricocheted against the far wall, the force of her throw scattering them throughout the sitting area. Several pieces grazed her flawless skin, but she barely felt anything. (Being a vampire conveniently increased one's threshold for pain, after all.) However, she smelled the blood that resulted. Blood mixed with vodka with just a hint of…

_Hm. Interesting_.

She knew that particular scent. It belonged to a certain someone she loathed and needed with equal measure.

Rebekah's lips curled in spite of her outburst. "Took you long enough," she muttered, although she knew the intruder heard her just fine. She glanced over her shoulder to gauge his reaction. "Are you here to avenge your damsel? Because I've skipped to the end of that particular chapter, and spoiler alert: It doesn't end well for you."

Damon's jaw clenched. "Oh, we'll get to that. But first," he flashed over to her side, "hasn't anyone ever told you it's rude to take things that don't belong to you?"

* * *

**A/N: **First thing's first: How awesome is it that TVD Season 5 has started? And The Originals. What do you guys think of the new seasons so far?

Aaaand now the aforementioned items I want to discuss. I apologize in advance for the length of my rambling, but there's a few things that I feel need some clarification:

**Item #1****: **Just to reiterate, this story is primarily _plot-driven_, meaning that Elena's struggle as a vampire and the upcoming fight against the Big Bad will take precedence. The Delena arc is just that—an _arc_, set in a much bigger story. It's a very important arc, yes, but it's not the only aspect of this story. I'm saying this now just in case anyone finds the slow pace of the romance frustrating.

**Item #2****: **Concerning the actual romance, this Delena story is more of a read-between-the-lines, one-step-forward-three-steps-back pace and will be a long, slow burn until the end. If you're not a fan of those, then I'm sorry, but I'd rather be honest now than unintentionally mislead you. I'm certainly not trying to discourage anybody from voicing their opinions, but at the end of the day, I've got to write the story I envisioned. If I succeed the way I hope I do, then I think it will be worth the wait.

**Item #3****:** There _will_ be a healthy dose of Stelena in this story. It's canon, folks, so we gotta resolve it before we get to the good stuff. Keep in mind that according to the timeline I've established, it was just last night that Elena picked _Stefan_ when Damon forced the issue, and even though she clearly has deep feelings for both, don't expect her to just switch teams overnight simply because we want her to. We'll get there, just not right away, and not without a few bumps in the road first.

**Item #4****: **The time frame for vampire transition has always been a little ambiguous on the show, so that gives me a little artistic license. For anyone who's keeping track, I've determined that transition has a maximum of 24 hours in this story – i.e. if Elena doesn't feed on human blood within the 24 hours following her drowning, then she will die permanently. I've tried as hard as I can to keep this close to canon, and as far as I can tell this seems like a reasonable estimate. I haven't found anything on the show or through research that would suggest anything significantly longer/shorter than that. Even in the real 4x01 (which doesn't entirely exist in this story), Elena lasts until the night after she drowns, although she is very weak when she finally makes the transition. So with that deadline in mind, it's going to be several chapters down the road before we see Elena fully transition. I'm going to do my best from now on to keep you updated on how much time she has left.

**Item #5****: **Updating will be a bit of a wildcard for the foreseeable future. As always, real life has to come first, and I can't predict the way mine will go. I've got this story plotted to the end, so unless I've got some serious writer's block, I'll continue this story… just at a slower pace.

Whew, what a mouthful! If you made it through all that, you deserve a life-size cutout of Ian Somerhalder. Shirtless. Mmm. Wait, do they actually make those? Now I've got myself wondering…

Thanks for sticking with me thus far. See you at the next chapter!


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